Closer to Home
by Cyclone
Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Closer to Home (1/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

Private First Class Dmitri Santiago was beginning to regret joining the Tactical Corps Arctic Division.

Dmitri's family was a classic example of the sort of mongrelized family units that populated Earth and her colonies after the Robotech War. Born Russian, Dmitri had been orphaned during the Rain of Death and later adopted. His adoptive father was an Argentinian destroid technician, while his adoptive mother was a female Zentraedi, a Queadluun-Rau pilot with all the maternal instinct of a bag of rocks. Somehow or other, they muddled through, as people always did.

Dmitri had always loved cold weather. He was the sort of person who would cut a hole in an ice shelf, strip to his skivvies, and take a quick swim just for the hell of it. The Arctic Division seemed like the perfect place for him. However, he was now facing a problem he could never have conceived would be a problem on deployment with the Arctic Division.

His squadron was on maneuvers on the Antarctic ice shelf, and the Fenris arctic power armor was designed specifically to protect its occupant from hypothermia and frostbite. It was extremely well-insulated and had an excellent heating system. Which was the problem.

He was overheating.

He had already shut off the heater two hours ago, but with the Fenris's remarkable insulation, the damage was done, and he was still practically swimming in sweat. The fact that he had managed to get separated from the rest of his squadron in the blizzard which was even now screwing up his long-range comm systems didn't improve his mood any. The Fenris's comm systems were supposed to be able to punch through even the worst weather, so either he had a malfunctioning comm system, or someone was cutting a few too many corners at the factory. Or both.

His nav system was a little spotty, occasionally losing connection with the orbiting satellites, but was otherwise functioning normally. If he were to get desperate, he might try bouncing a comm signal through the navsats, but he was far from reaching that point. He was trudging through the blizzard toward the secondary rendezvous point when the ground collapsed beneath his feet.

_Perfect,_ he thought sourly, staring up at the gaping hole he had fallen through. _Just... perfect._

He wasn't dumb enough to ask what else could go wrong, not even in his thoughts, but after taking a moment to rest, he sat up and pulled off his helmet. The Fenris's thrusters could easily get him out and back to the surface, but here, shielded from the wind and snow, he could risk opening up his helmet to try to make some field repairs to his comm system.

Dmitri suddenly stopped and stared at the gigantic stone ring standing nearby.

"Oh, yeah," he muttered to himself. "Definitely gonna have to call this one in."

* * *

Just as the various divisions of the United Earth Expeditionary Force were named after planets in their home system, the Armies of the Southern Cross were named for the Southern Cross constellation which marked the direction their UEEF brethren were exploring in search of the Robotech Masters. Both were attempts to foster kinship between the two forces. The ASC's charter was to defend Earth and her colonies, while the UEEF's purpose was more aggressive, designed for force projection and other foreign ventures, including exploration.

Even so, the UEEF still maintained facilities on Earth, for training, maintenance, and manufacturing, although most of that necessary support structure was slowly being relocated to the new Space Station Liberty. Overall head of the UEEF's Earth-based operations was Rear Admiral Vanessa Leeds. And she had a headache.

Her headache stemmed from a combination of three things. The first on the list was a collection of documents recovered in North America after the Rain of Death. It indicated research into a potentially alien artifact by the United States Air Force that had been shut down with the rising political tensions that led to the Global Civil War, its funding diverted to more immediate needs. Attempts to locate this so-called "doorway to heaven" had proven fruitless when it led to the Cheyenne Mountain complex, which had taken several direct hits during the Rain.

Second was the hushed-up discovery in Egypt, also after the Rain of Death. Apparently, an ancient starship had been sitting under humanity's noses for a few thousand years. There wasn't much left of the ship, and they had gone over it with a fine-toothed comb in search of any salvageable technology. The stray reflex cannon shot that revealed it had also destroyed most of it, but there was enough to identify it as a starship and get a reasonable fix on how long it had been sitting there. They knew it used a crystal-based technology unlike anything they had seen before.

These two together were just curiousities, though, evidence that Earth needed to remain vigilant and proof that rogue Zentraedi and the Robotech Masters were not the only potential threats lurking out among the stars. It was the third thing that was really causing her headache. Two weeks ago, a unit of the Tactical Corps Arctic Division discovered more ancient alien technology buried in the ice in Antarctica. The centerpiece of the discovery was a giant stone ring that matched the USAF records, but it also included what appeared to be a control panel and a gene-locked chair of unknown purpose.

All of this, of course, is what brought her here, to a rundown school in South America. Specifically speaking, it brought her to the office of one of its teachers.

"Doctor Daniel Jackson?"

"Yes?" the aging Egyptologist -- now teaching history -- looked up. He raised a curious eyebrow, "So, what brings an Expeditionary Force admiral here?"

"You'll have to sign an NDA for details," she replied, "but I'd like to offer you a job."

Dr. Jackson laughed, "Oh, that's rich. What do you need me for?"

"We found something," she said obliquely. "And you were right. Let's leave it at that until we get the paperwork done."

* * *

Daniel peered out the window as the plane made its final approach. The ruined wasteland made it difficult to pinpoint exactly where they were, and he honestly didn't expect to be able to identify their destination. A depressingly large percentage of Earth's surface was just as ruined by the Zentraedi bombardment. The flight had been made largely in silence. The admiral didn't seem inclined to conversation, and he saw no sign of the pilots or any other personnel.

"So," he said, finally breaking the silence, "where are we going?"

"Site One Seventeen," Leeds replied. "Northern Africa, coordinates GX-forty-two."

Daniel blinked. Site 117 at GX-42? He knew the GX sector was in Egypt. Shortly after the Rain, he had once applied for a permit to enter for archaeological research, but they'd denied it, citing extensive radiation hazards from the bombardment.

From above, Site 117 didn't look like much. It had an airstrip with several prefab hangars and a veritable tent city skirting the edge of what appeared to be some sort of dig site. The most impressive feature, however, was the wrecked remains of a crashed Zentraedi warship shielding one side of the compound from the wind.

Daniel was puzzled when the plane began its descent. It was coming in at the wrong angle to land on the airstrip, so what was the pilot doi-...?

"Wait a minute," he said, whipping his head around to look at the admiral. "We're going to land **inside** the Zentraedi ship?!"

"She may not look like much," Admiral Leeds replied with a grin, "but she's got it where it counts."

Daniel turned his gaze forward again, "Oh boy."

* * *

"Sorry about the mess," Leeds said as she led him through the Zentraedi ship, "but we've only had about two weeks to get this place set up. We've moved most of what we've found at the dig site to one of the onboard cargo bays."

"What **did** you find?" Daniel asked, dodging past a worker welding a hand rail on the human-scale catwalk which had clearly been hastily assembled.

"We're almost there, actually," she answered, ducking into a Zentraedi-scale ventilation shaft.

Within minutes, Daniel found himself staring at the wrecked remains of a pyramid. A very high-tech looking pyramid that looked like it found itself on the wrong end of a reflex cannon.

"That's a starship, isn't it?"

"We think so," Leeds nodded. "There wasn't much left, but we could tell it had most of the basic components of starship design, along with a crystal-based interface we've never seen before."

Daniel was only half-listening as he approached the pyramid. He placed his hands on it and peered behind the outer surface. "So it's not Zentraedi?" he asked, tracing his finger along some of the markings he found.

"No, it isn't."

"Osiris," he murmured, reading the markings. "Egyptian god of death and rebirth." He stepped back... and proceeded to give an exuberant victory dance that belied his age. "Take that, Rayner, you sanctimonious **ass!**" he cheered. He turned to look back at the admiral, "How did you find it?"

"A survey flight discovered it while mapping this area after the Rain of Death," Leeds replied.

"Wait," he frowned. "That was over ten years ago. You **knew!** I was right all along, and you didn't tell me?"

"So, who's the crazy man?" another voice intruded. Daniel turned to find a man roughly about his age with a tablet computer swaggering up to the admiral.

"Ah," Leeds took the distraction. "Doctor McKay, this is Doctor Daniel Jackson. We believe he may be able to shed some light on our situation. Doctor Jackson, this is Doctor Rodney McKay. He heads our scientific research into the ship and the other artifacts we uncovered that we believe may be related."

"'Other artifacts'?" Daniel perked up, then looked at McKay. "You didn't take them **apart**, did you?"

McKay gave him a puzzled look, "Well, of course, we did. We can't exactly research something by staring at it all day, now can we?"

Daniel let out a strangled groan.

"He's the best you could get?" McKay asked the admiral, clearly perplexed and oblivious to the murderous looks the archaeologist was giving him.

"You mean you took ancient, priceless artifacts and took them apart like a Lego set?!" Daniel exploded.

McKay looked back at him, "Hey, we're **scientists** here, trying to unlock the secrets of an unknown technology we've never seen before! What do you **think** we're going to do?!"

Vanessa sighed and let the two rail at each other for a few minutes, rubbing her temples, until finally, she let out an ear-piercing whistle. "Both of you! Calm down! Now! Rodney, take your notes and put them back together. We can worry about **how** they work after we figure out what they do and how to use them."

"All right, fine," Rodney nodded. "Anyway, I was just coming by to tell you, Jennifer... I mean, Doctor Keller just got the genetic analysis back on those bodies. They're mostly human. They're only slightly more different from us than the Zentraedi, even if the two deceased have larval pouches."

"What?" Daniel asked, confused. "Like kangaroos?"

"I guess," Rodney shrugged. "Except the larvae aren't the same species. I'm a physicist, not a biologist. Oh, and that unidentified element the big ring's made of, Admiral? Doctor Keller's found trace amounts of it in the two deceased."

"And how would something like **that** happen?" Vanessa frowned.

"I don't know," Rodney admitted. "Like I said, I don't go for biology and those other lesser sciences. Maybe it was due to the presence of technology with that element. Maybe it was a gift from the gods. Maybe they ate a lot of it in their diet as part of some bizarre ritual. I don't know."

Vanessa sighed, "Have Doctor Keller look into it. I'm taking Doctor Jackson to see the doorway to heaven."

"The... what?" Daniel asked.

* * *

A pregnant silence reigned in the cavernous cargo bay where the stargate stood after Dr. Jackson detailed his theory. It had been two weeks since his arrival (and quick correction on the translation as to what the big stone ring), and he thought he'd cracked it: a six-point destination coordinate followed by a point of origin, which he identified as the one glyph that did not match between the stargate the USAF was working on and the stargate they had now. He theorized that the large red button in the center of the dialing device might serve to tell the device to send power to the stargate to activate it.

"There are so many things wrong with that theory, I don't know where to begin," Dr. McKay finally said, breaking the silence.

"Meredith!" snapped his sister. Dr. Jeannie Miller had taken considerable convincing to participate in the program, but she was absolutely brilliant when it came to applying the few secrets her brother's team had unlocked. Her team was currently exploring the dynamics of the crystal interface found in the pyramid ship and adapting them for human use.

"No, seriously, Jeannie," Rodney waved her off, then looked at Daniel. "Did you fail geometry or something? You **don't** need six points to identify another point in a three-dimensional space. Four points work just fine. Two lines in space will either intersect, or they won't, and if they don't, adding a third line isn't going to do any good."

He got up and paced, "I mean, have you even **taken** a stellar cartography or astrophysics class, crazy man?"

"No," Daniel snarked back. "I was a little busy mastering over two dozen languages and getting my doctorates in archaeology and linguistics."

"Well, good for you," Rodney said condescendingly. "I'll explain it to you in small words. The stars in a constellation look close together from Earth, but they're really light-years, sometimes thousands of light-years apart. Sometimes, they're not even in the same **galaxy!** Never mind that stars **move**. It's called stellar drift. Back when this thing was built, the constellations didn't even **look** like they do now!"

He strode over to the dialing device. "Finally, crazy man, there are nine chevrons on the stargate, not seven. You're telling me that if I just hit the six symbols we found in the Air Force documents, followed by the one symbol that doesn't match," he said, pressing them as he said it, "and then hit this big red button in the middle to power it, it'll... YOW!"

KAWOOSH!

Rodney jumped and shrieked like a little girl, fully aware of what an unstable wormhole -- his current theory as to what the stargate created -- could do to a person... or any form of matter that got in its way.

Jeannie stared, and suddenly, it all clicked, "It makes sense now. It's like a telephone system, except backwards. With our telephone system, we have standard number lengths, but we can enter in prefixes so the system knows when we're dialing a longer number. With this one, instead, we dial it in and **then** press the point of origin and the red button to tell it we're finished. It's **brilliant!**"

* * *

Vanessa Leeds was having doubts. Today would be the first mission through the stargate, and there were far too many things that could go wrong. The stargate itself was under 24/7 guard by a pair of Tomahawk destroids the newly-christened Stargate Command had saved from the scrapyard, and the cargo bay they had taken to calling the "gateroom" was officially considered an unsecure location in which sidearms were required. As long as someone else could open the stargate from the other side, it wasn't secure.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The reconstructive surgery after she had been pulled from the wreckage of the SDF-1 had done wonders, but she could still spot each and every one of the minor scars and other signs of injury that marked her. The scars didn't bother her so much as the muscular tics did; virtually invisible if you didn't know what to look for, they were where the surgeons hadn't been able to completely repair the nerve damage, even with advanced tissue cloning technology gleaned from the Zentraedi cloning chambers.

She liked the Quiltra Queleual they had turned into SGC headquarters. Its interior was nice and large, built to Zentraedi scale, even with the adaptations they had added for human use. After the Battle of New Macross, she had developed a deep sense of claustrophobia; tight spaces just reminded her far too much of the hours she had spent trapped in what was left of the SDF-1's bridge. It wasn't something she spoke of with anyone, though she was pretty sure Lisa understood when she refused a fleet command. Her banter toward Dr. Jackson on the flight from South America had been as much to cover her own nerves as to reassure the archaeologist.

She shook it off and straightened her uniform, brushing an invisible piece of lint from her blouse. Squaring her shoulders and giving her reflection a stern look, she left her quarters and made the fifteen minute walk to the command center, nodding a silent greeting to Brigadier General Rolf Emerson as she entered. Emerson was her liaison with the ASC, from which she was drawing most of her personnel and equipment. The command center itself was really just a prefab building dropped into the cargo bay where they had put the stargate. She looked out the viewport toward the stargate, focusing on the TaC-Recon platoon making ready to march through the stargate.

* * *

In First Lieutenant Alan Shun's considered opinion, the Tactical Corps Reconnaissance Division -- aka TaC-Recon -- was the finest division in the Tactical Corps and the best branch in all the Armies of the Southern Cross. Let the other branches boast about their hovertanks or veritechs. TaC-Recon did more with less; their battloid of choice didn't even have so much as a head laser. Naturally, the fact that he was part of TaC-Recon had absolutely nothing to do with his assessment. Of course not. Not one bit. Ridiculous.

He gripped his Mark VI Owens anxiously. The select-fire particle beam gun was fully decked out with barrel extension, stock, and extended magazine, turning the pistol into more of a submachine gun. The Owens wasn't a popular weapon among the ASC, but TaC-Recon had a much more flexible TO&E than the other branches. Most of the rest of his platoon of twenty-seven favored the rugged and reliable FA5 5.56x45mm assault carbine instead, with one fire team preferring the heavier 7.62x51mm AR-25 Wolverine assault rifles. His support team, of course, carried RL-6 missile throwers; with the advent of mecha, the concept of the squad automatic weapon had fallen by the wayside.

No one in his platoon quite trusted the new LR-20 laser rifles just yet.

Among other mecha, they had ARR-15 Monocle battloids on standby, but the data feed from the probe nixed the original plan of sending them through. While the Monocle could fit through the stargate, the room on the other side of said stargate didn't appear to have enough maneuvering room for battloids to be effective.

They were going to be the first to step through the stargate. Even in a space-faring society like the post-Robotech War Earth, being on another planet was still a big deal, as transit between planets was far from common, and most of those who had left Earth were colonists (who probably never expected to see Earth again) and the UEEF (who spent far more time on ships than on planets). This "stargate" could change that completely.

He tried not to flinch as the stargate engaged, the unstable wormhole swooshing out in a disintegrating splash.

"Recon One, you are free to proceed."

* * *

Author's Postscript:

Daniel's method of figuring out how the stargate works in the movie always bugged me. As Rodney here said, there are so many things wrong with it, I wouldn't know where to start. Daniel got lucky.

For those wondering about the title and summary, basically, in this continuity at least, the Zentraedi, Tirolians, and Invid are from another galaxy, hence why the Stargateverse stuff is "closer to home."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Closer to Home (2/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

"Recon One, you are free to proceed."

First Lieutenant Alan Shun took point. He was glad for his TaC-Recon Southern Cross battle armor, which hid his twitchiness as he approached what looked like nothing so much as a vertical pool of water. A vertical pool of water that could disintegrate things. He took a moment to stare at the -- what did the science geeks call it? -- event horizon, eyeing it distrustfully. Being the first to do something was one thing in theory; actually stepping through a wormhole -- something he remembered was theorized to do Very Bad Things to starships -- was another thing entirely.

Sucking in a nervous breath, he stepped through.

Alan stopped to catch his breath on the other side of the stargate, only to get run into by his second in command, Sergeant Nikita Weston, sending the pair of them stumbling. Only intense military training kept them on the ball and swinging their weapons to cover the room instead of hitting the ground in a flailing tangle of limbs.

"That, uh, that was certainly something, huh, Ell-tee?"

"'Something' is right," he agreed as he stepped aside. As the rest of the platoon stepped through, he barked, "Move it! Clear the way! Those incoming can't see you clogging up the entryway, gawking at the scenery! Section one, secure the room! Section two, drop your load and move onto the next room! I want this structure secure in fifteen!"

Section two -- under Sergeant Amos Bradley -- was burdened with a cylindrical device that was their most precious cargo for this mission, which they carefully set down off to one side, where it wouldn't be in the way. It was hardened to a degree, but there were limits, especially considering the nature of the device and its complex electronics.

* * *

Alan was proud of his platoon. In the end, it had only taken ten minutes to secure the structure.

"Ell-tee, I think it's safe to say that we're in the Double Dees' home turf," Sergeant Weston said mildly as they looked out across the open desert expanse. The "Double Dees" in question were the Tactical Corps Desert Division.

Alan nodded, "Can't argue with that, Nikki." He glanced as his watch, "We're at mission start plus ten, and Amos's team won't finish setting up for another ten. Once they're done, I want to take your section out to do some preliminary recon while Amos holds the fort. I want us moving by plus thirty. That'll give us more than five hours to check things out before scheduled contact."

"Sir," she saluted and moved to gather her section.

* * *

"Sand, sand, sand, and oh, look! More sand," Alan heard one of his troops grousing behind him. "I **hate** sand!"

"I thought you were from the Middle East, Badawi?" Nikki pointed out.

"Why do you think I left and joined TaC-Recon?" PFC Badawi shot back. "Swamps, jungles, tundras, **anything** but more desert, I said. I don't even like going to the **beach!**"

Alan suddenly held up a clenched fist and stopped. He waved the section down and dropped flat himself, pulling out his field glasses. He was sure he'd spotted movement in the distance...

It took him a moment to adjust the field glasses and zero in on where he thought he'd seen something moving. There was a group of people, apparently human -- but as the Zentraedi had proven, appearances could be deceiving -- herding a group of woolly quadrupeds. How such a creature could evolve in such a hot environment was beyond him.

"Natives," he murmured. "We'll need a linguist and first contact specialist. Fall back to the gate."

* * *

Alan glanced at his watch. It was mission start plus five hours and fifty-eight minutes. Two minutes more to go before Stargate Command redialed the gate to reestablish contact. Section two had sentry duty at the entrance, while section one was taking a short break.

Right on schedule, the stargate powered up, a destructive swirling vortex splashing outwards as the wormhole established itself.

"This is Stargate Command to Recon One, do you copy?"

"Recon One Actual," Alan replied through his battle armor's comm system. "We copy. Immediate area is secure, and we've found signs of native sapient life. We have avoided contact, but we'll need a linguist and a first contact specialist." He paused, then added, "We're in the middle of a desert, Command. Some Double Dees would be nice."

"Recon One, Command, mark status of activating gate from your end."

"Command, we have no reference material available, no writing, no points of reference. Request a gate specialist as well to try to align the gate."

There was a pause.

"Understood, Recon One. We're sending a linguist, a stargate specialist, and a first contact specialist through now. Desert Division support will be deployed at next scheduled contact."

He watched as the three specialists emerged from the event horizon. All three of them were clad in CVR-1 hard body armor, which was a good three to four kilograms lighter than Southern Cross battle armor, which made sense for civilian specialists in potentially hazardous locations like here. They all doffed their helmets, and Alan was surprised to see Dr. Jackson and Dr. McKay.

The third person was a strikingly beautiful woman with dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Welcome to... wherever the hell this is," he said, removing his own helmet as the stargate disengaged. "Doctor Jackson, Doctor McKay," he nodded at them, then looked at the woman. "I'm afraid I don't know who you are, ma'am."

"I am Saryanna Demin," she introduced herself, "formerly of Quadrono Squadron in the Zentraedi Air Force. I will be your first contact specialist."

He blinked, noticing the faint greenish tint to her hair now that he looked more closely. "A Zentraedi first contact specialist?" he blurted out dubiously.

"I am a trained diplomat and first contact specialist, hand-picked by Supreme Commander Breetai and vetted by UEDF High Command and the Foreign Affairs Office," she said, pinning him in place with her glare. "I have successfully negotiated peaceful initial contact with four separate Zentraedi battle groups. I trust we will not have problems, Lieutenant?"

Alan grinned and shook his head, "No, no problems at all, ma'am."

* * *

Skaara was the chief of his people, by right of birth and trial. So when Lucah returned with warning of strangers approaching, warriors of another god, it was his duty to lead his people to meet them and drive them off. _For the greater glory of Ra,_ he thought ironically.

He mustered two score warriors, the best he had, but a pitiful force against what he knew the strangers would bear against them if they were truly soldiers of one of Ra's enemies.

Skaara was uneducated and illiterate, but that did not make him a fool. He instantly noticed the variation in the helmets, and two of the strangers wore completely different armor entirely. The armor these warriors wore was very different from that of Ra's servants, more functional, less decorative. Three of them were in the lead, the two with the completely different armor and the one who wore the same armor as the rest but with a unique helmet. That one, he decided, must be their chief warrior, while the other two were gods. Lesser gods, surely, he amended. They dressed far too humbly for the greater gods like Ra, and they moved as equals.

Emissaries, then, come to proclaim their god's rule over Abydos.

"Halt," he called out, raising his spear. "This land is Ra's domain. Servants of other gods are not welcome here."

_Nor,_ he thought bitterly, _are the servants of Ra, but there is nothing I can do about them._

That sent two of the three leaders into a discussion in a foreign tongue.

* * *

"Doctor Jackson?" Alan said calmly.

"Yes?"

"How come I understood what he just said?"

"Th-that's... um..." Daniel began wiping his visor helmet, "...that's a good question, actually."

"Maybe it's something to do with the stargate?" Alan guessed. "We could ask Doc McKay when we get back to the pyramid." Rodney had been left behind at the pyramid, working on collecting data from the stargate, with one of his fire teams detached to keep him and the area secure.

"Yes... of course..." Daniel said, clearly unenthused by the idea.

Saryanna shook her head at their discussion -- as far as she was concerned, it was irrelevant for the moment -- and focused her attention on the man who had challenged them. "We serve no god," she replied, finding it a little odd how the native language flowed off her tongue.

That seemed to take the native aback a little. "Are you a god?" he asked warily.

Beneath her helmet, Saryanna's lips twitched, and she snickered. Daniel shot her an odd look, "What's so funny?"

"'Ray,'" she quoted, "'when someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes.'"

"Oh, God," Daniel began rubbing his helmet over his temples. "I **lived** through the eighties, Saryanna. They weren't **that** great." He paused, "You aren't **seriously** going to..."

She shook her head in amusement. "I am no god," she replied, again in the native tongue. "I was a slave, as were all my people, until we were freed by the likes of those who accompany me here today." She looked at him, "We are peaceful explorers."

Alan coughed, subtly reminding her that they were, in fact, all armed and armored, and only one of them really qualified as a civilian.

"We mean no harm to any who do not seek to harm us," she amended. "So, do you have a name?"

* * *

Skaara was even more wary than he had been before. He had been growing more and more discontent with living under Ra's rule. He strongly suspected that Ra was a false god... and each day that he lived with such heretical thoughts solidified that belief bit by bit. And here came strangers, armed and armored, suggesting very obliquely that they might be able to offer freedom for his people.

Was this a test of loyalty from Ra? Or were they a genuine chance for freedom?

He did not know, nor could he trust his judgment on them. But he knew whose judgment of them he would trust.

"I am Skaara," he answered.

"And this land?" she asked.

"Abydos," he answered. "Come, if you mean no harm, then you are welcome in our homes."

* * *

Rodney was muttering a constant string of complaints as he connected his tablet computer to the dialing device. The complaints ran a gamut of topics from the sand and grit getting into his armor to the armor's chafing and inability to fully compensate for the heat to the tastelessness and questionable consistency of the MRE he had scarfed down earlier. The tablet, despite its size, held in its impressive hard drive all the data they had uncovered about the stargate and dialing device. Thirty years ago, before the advent of robotechnology, that would probably have taken at least one wall's worth of supercomputers.

"There's got to be some sort of caller ID," he muttered, tapping in another query. "Some way to identify where the wormhole came from. Something! This would be basic security!"

The query turned up another negative. He did find a couple of residual stargate addresses, but those were outgoing, and apparently regularly trafficked.

"You're taking your sister's whole phone analogy thing pretty far, aren't you, Doc?" PFC John Meyers frowned.

Rodney stopped, counted to ten, then looked at the... well, "trained ape" was the term coming to his mind. "It's an excellent analogy, and my sister is brilliant, quite possibly the only person on Earth smarter than I am. Now, unless you have something constructive to contribute, such as a new search pattern or interface network...?"

"Uhh..."

"Thank you," he said with a firm nod, then turned back to his work, shaking his head and muttering about trained apes who tried to think.

Suddenly, Rodney's helmet radio crackled to life, and Daniel's voice emerged, "Doctor McKay?"

"WHAT?!" he snapped.

"Um, is this a bad time?"

Once again, Rodney closed his eyes and counted to ten. "What do you want, Doctor Jackson?"

"Well, um, it seems there isn't much need for a linguist after all," Daniel replied. "We seem to all be able to understand the native tongue. We figured the stargate might have something to do with it and were wondering if you could look into it."

"Oh, of course," Rodney replied sarcastically. "I'll be happy to look into a completely nonessential function of an alien technology in my **copious** spare time between trying to get us home and making sure it reassembles us properly at the other end."

"Well, I wouldn't consider the automatic ability of a team to speak the local dialect to be nonessential. Something like that, if it does exist, could be quite useful in the future, not to mention-"

"**Thank** you, Doctor Jackson. Is there anything **else** you need to mention?"

"We'll be staying with the locals overnight," Daniel added. "Their cuisine's actually quite good."

"Thank you," Rodney growled. "So much."

* * *

The next communication from Earth -- which were scheduled at regular six-hour intervals -- reported a delay in deploying the Desert Division support; they wouldn't be ready until morning. So, while Daniel, Saryanna, and most of the platoon were enjoying the comfortable, if primitive, hospitality of the Abydonians, Rodney and the fire team assigned to protect him were bunking on the hard stone floor of one of the rooms in the building that held the stargate.

PFC Walter Jenkins had the graveyard shift. He was intensely bored, but then, he was used to boredom, even in recon. He was glad they had chosen to stay in the building for the night, since the sandstorm outside looked and sounded pretty vicious. A faint humming and whooshing sound caught his attention, and he looked up. There was a flash of light, reflected off the wall opposite the entrance to the gateroom. The humming came back for a moment, before the sound and light both vanished.

He rose to his feet, FA5 carbine in hand, and approached the gateroom entrance warily. Walter jerked back in surprise as a tall, shadowy figure rounded the corner, lowering an unusual-looking staff at him.

His instincts screamed at him, and he opened fire, just as a golden bolt of energy slammed into his breastplate.

* * *

Author's Postscript:

Poor Rodney.

As for the translation thing, I needed some way to explain why they faced a language difficulty in the movie, but not the series, when a language barrier only makes sense. I figure the dialing computer wasn't advanced enough to trigger the translation effect until after the first Abydos mission. This being something that wouldn't actually come up during the narrative, I'm explaining it here.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Closer to Home (3/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

Of all the Armies of the Southern Cross, the Tactical Corps Reconnaissance Division was the only one designed specifically to operate behind enemy lines. For TaC-Recon, being surrounded by the enemy with limited or no support was exactly what they trained for, so just about each and every single TaC-Recon soldier was a light sleeper.

A fire team was a close-knit unit. They trained together, they ate together, they slept together. They knew each and every nuance of each other's movements, to the point that they could subconsciously identify each other while asleep. Their teammates movements would never disturb a sleeping TaC-Recon soldier until they indicated alarm.

So it was that, even as Walter was bringing his carbine up to fire, the rest of the fire team was already snapping awake and grabbing weapons. And not even Rodney could sleep through the gunfire.

As Walter flew back from the hostile's attack, his carbine stitched a line of bullet holes from the hostile's gut, up his chest and head, and into the ceiling.

"Meyers, cover!" snapped Cpl. Barry Lampkin, shoving his helmet on. Barry was the lead member of the fire team, and he was taking his job seriously, throwing Rodney's CVR-1 breastplate over the scientist and hustling him behind the cover of a stone pillar.

"Wh-what's going on?" mumbled a half-asleep and confused Rodney.

"Just **move!**" Barry snapped again. "Carroll, check on Jenkins!"

"What the f*ck was that?!" John demanded as he engaged more hostiles.

"Dunno," Lenore Carroll, one of the platoon's two medics, replied as she checked on their fallen comrade, ignoring the incoming energy blasts screaming over her head, "but it wasn't friendly, and it put one helluva crater in Wally's armor. How you feeling, Wally?"

"Like a full-size Zent just used me for a football, Lenny," came the groaned reply.

"Careful," Lenny warned. "You might have cracked some ribs with a hit like that."

Barry chinned his helmet radio on and brought his carbine up, triggering a short burst as one of the hostiles tried to charge. "Lampkin to Recon Actual! We have unknown hostile forces in the gate building!"

"Say again, Lampkin?!" came the lieutenant's incredulous response.

"We have unknown hostile forces in the gate building," Barry repeated, ducking behind the stone pillar as an energy bolt took a chunk out of the wall behind him. "One showed up and shot Jenkins with an unidentified energy weapon before Jenkins took him out, and we are engaged with an unknown number of others." He glanced at Lenny, who shot him a thumbs up. "Doc says no serious injuries, but his chestplate's a mess."

"Did they come from the gate?"

"Unknown," Barry replied tightly. "Ell-Tee, I don't have the manpower to babysit Doctor McKay and resecure the building at the same time. Do we hole up or bug out?"

There was a long pause before Alan replied, "Your call, corporal. That storm's pretty nasty. I'm bringing the rest of the platoon in as soon as it clears." Visibility was effectively ten feet in the worst of it; the platoon would just get lost trying to join them at the pyramid.

Barry nodded, even though the lieutenant couldn't see him, "Understood." He thought about it for a moment, then reported, "We're pulling out, sir."

While he had been talking with the lieutenant, Lenny had pulled on the rest of her battle armor -- the three team members not on watch had gone "half-armor," wearing the torso armor only -- and switched off for John, who was pulling on the last of his left leg greaves as Lenny and Wally continued to engage the enemy. Barry hadn't been idle either, though it took him twice as long to get armored up.

Rodney, on the other hand, was still struggling with the armor for his right arm when the team hauled him out into the sandstorm.

* * *

The mission, which had started out surprisingly well and by the book for something never actually done before, was now starting fall apart. The gate building had been the linchpin of their operation, with most of their extra supplies and that most precious item of all stashed inside. Not to mention their only way home until Admiral Leeds could pry loose a fold-capable ship from the fleet to pick them up.

And it was left to Lt. Alan Shun to fix this mess. Preferably **before** the Double Dees scheduled to arrive walked into a potential firefight.

"Well," he sighed, looking through his field glasses as the spaceship that was apparently using the pyramid as a landing pad, "at least we know where the hostiles came from. How long until the Double Dees are supposed to arrive?"

"Two more hours," Nikki replied.

"Do we have a fix on Lampkin's team?"

She grimaced, "Negative. They've gone dark. I don't what the hell Barry's playing at, but either he's not secure, or he's got another one of his crazy ideas."

"If he does have one of his insane, spur of the moment, seat of his pants ideas that might somewhat resemble a battle plan, remind me to either write him a commendation or beat his ass into the ground. Again."

They simply did **not** speak of Montenegro. Ever.

"Aww, Ell-Tee, I thought you liked me?" Barry emerged, shedding sand like a submarine breaking the surface of the ocean. The rest of his team soon followed.

"Jesus!" Alan jerked in surprise, his Owens energy pistol snapping up, as the team members emerged, including Rodney. Muffled grunts and moans from the scientist were explained when he yanked his helmet off and removed the gag.

"These... **people**...!" Rodney started in a strangled voice.

"Not now," Alan cut him off. "We've got hostiles in the gateroom and some Double Dees about to gate blindly into a hot zone. There's a threat to Earth, and we need to deal with it, one way or another. We're retaking the gateroom."

Rodney opened his mouth, closed it, then huffed and said, "We'll talk about this later."

"We grabbed the hostile's gear," Barry explained, presenting the strange, staff-like weapon. "Doc McKay says it seems to be some sort of plasma weapon."

Alan accepted the weapon, weighing its balance. It seemed to be weighted for melee combat, and it didn't have anything approaching a modern sight. He handed it to Rodney, "See if we can use this." He gave Wally a once-over, "So, Jenkins, assessment?"

"No penetration on the one hit he landed, sir," Wally answered, "but it felt like I got punched in the chest by a battloid," he fingered the crater on his breastplate, "and I don't think my armor can take another hit like that."

"Understood," Alan nodded. He looked over at the pyramid ship. "If only we hadn't left all our demo in the gateroom," he mused.

"I have some explosives," Saryanna offered as she approached. "I couldn't help but overhear."

They stared at her.

"I believe it's a motto from your combat engineers," she said. "'There is no problem that cannot be solved through the proper application of high explosives.' I happen to agree. Just because I'm a diplomat doesn't mean I'm going to limit my options. War is, after all, the final tool of diplomacy."

Alan gave the green-haired warrior-turned-diplomat a look of admiration. "Are you single?"

She smiled a secretive smile and patted his cheek through the helmet. "Let us see how the mission goes, then we shall discuss... other matters. Deal?"

"Right. Mission first, booty call later."

* * *

The Star Goose shuttle landed on the airstrip at Site 117. While many aircraft could land within the crashed Quiltra Queleual, the Star Goose was not one of them, requiring a longer runway than most. The armored transatmospheric shuttle skidded to a touchdown, and even before it came to a complete stop, its primary passenger was already working the door open.

Within minutes, said passenger was storming through the facility toward the gateroom.

Vanessa Leeds looked up, then bolted to her feet and saluted, "General Carter! We weren't expecting you for two more weeks."

"I dropped everything as soon as I heard," Gen. Samantha Carter, sector commander at Space Station Liberty, explained, returning the salute. "What's the status of the stargate?"

"First team is through," Vanessa reported. "They've made contact with the natives. We're gearing up a platoon from the Desert Division to provide additional support."

Sam frowned, "I spent fifteen years working on that thing. You couldn't wait fifteen days?"

Vanessa was taken aback by the complaint. As one of the most senior surviving military officers in all of Earth's armed forces, Gen. Carter outranked her by a good three pay grades... but the stargate was **not** under her chain of command.

The general sighed and continued, turning her gaze out toward the stargate. "I wanted to be here when we finally turned it on," she elaborated, a tad wistfully.

The stargate was the only reason she was even on Earth, to take part in a discussion on what the future of the stargate program would be after the initial reconnaissance mission was completed. As one of the few surviving members of the initial research into the other stargate found on Earth and mastermind behind the original dialing computer, it was thought she might have some insight to offer on the stargate program.

Incidentally, she had heard of Dr. Jackson, years ago. The lead civilian researcher for Project Giza, Dr. Catherine Langford, had considered bringing him into the project to do what he had done now with the new stargate: crack the code. But that was before the funding fell through.

Idly, Sam wondered how things might have been if they hadn't lost funding.

She glanced out at where the Desert Division soldiers were prepping for the mission. They were toting the new LR-20 laser rifles. While the Reconnaissance Division preferred the tried and true FA5 carbines, the Desert Division was quick to adopt the LR-20. With its fewer moving parts and cavities, the LR-20 technically couldn't jam and was less prone to equivalent malfunctions due to sand or grit, a major selling point for the Desert Division.

* * *

Ra's personal Horus Guards were a peculiarity. Like all the System Lords, the Supreme System Lord Ra commanded entire armies of Jaffa, but unlike his lesser peers, Ra preferred to keep humans close to him, raising them and grooming them from childhood to be the fiercest, most loyal bodyguards one could hope for, ready to die for their god.

Only he knew why he affected this unusual preference. As it was, some of the Horus Guards that had reclaimed the pyramid were studying the items left behind by the intruders, including the large, cylindrical device that had proven such a burden for Sgt. Amos Bradley's section. Many of the items were ringed up to Ra's starship. The rest of the Horus Guards were watching for a counterattack.

They watched for an attack from the entrance. They watched for an attack through the stargate. They did not watch for an attack through the walls.

So when the stargate engaged with an incoming wormhole, they were properly distracted.

"Give me enough demo, and I shall move the world" was a popular saying among demolitions experts, and while moving the world was a bit much for their meager supply of explosives, they had plenty enough to make a sizeable wall-breaching charge. When the wormhole from Earth engaged, Alan transmitted a warning to Stargate Command and signaled the attack.

Daniel's heart broke along with the millenia-old wall as the charge detonated.

The Horus Guards were caught by surprise, distracted by the incoming wormhole and stunned by the explosion's shockwave reverberating in the enclosed space, a few unlucky ones being killed by the explosion itself. By the time they recovered, half of them had already been gunned down in the confusion. The survivors, however, rallied within the gateroom, where they dug in with open fields of fire, preventing Alan's platoon from pushing forward.

A few of them were watching the active stargate for more enemies, but none of them could have expected what they got.

"Damn it, Command!" Alan swore as he ducked another plasma bolt. "Where's the goddamn cavalry?!"

"Right here," came an amused reply.

Floating out of the stargate emerged a relic from before the Robotech War, a VHT-1A2 Centaur. The Centaur semi-veritech hovertank was one of the earliest ground mecha designs developed after the Visitor -- later the SDF-1 -- crash-landed on Macross Island. It was developed in parallel to the VF-1 Valkyrie and the destroids that won the Robotech War, but it saw little action during the war itself, instead earning its keep in the post-war conflicts.

The Centaur's initial design was built with mostly Earth-based technology. Its armaments featured a short-barreled six-inch gun (really, a modified version of the Bofors 152mm naval gun), a rack of missiles, and a pair of weapon armatures, the right toting a trio of laser cannons comparable to the head lasers of the VF-1 Valkyrie, the left with a gun cluster system consisting of a 20x102mm autocannon, a 30x173mm autocannon, a 40x53mm auto-loading grenade launcher, and a pair of 7.62x51mm machine guns. The very first prototype was even built with an internal combustion engine, though all later models used protoculture energizers like the rest of Earth's mecha.

Since then, the Centaur had undergone numerous updates, culminating in the VHT-1A3 and -1A4 Centaurs. These two models had been designed to compete with the VHT-2 Spartas in the Alpha Tactical Armored Corps' Project Gunslinger. The ATAC was created to be an elite armored cavalry force, designed to provide rapid response, armed reconnaissance, and mobile artillery support in all theaters, and Project Gunslinger was meant to find the perfect mecha for those mission profiles. Although the Spartas had won the contract for the ATAC, the updated Centaurs had found a place within the various divisions of the Tactical Corps.

The key difference between the VHT-1A3 and the -1A4 was that the VHT-1A3 retained its six-inch main gun, while the VHT-1A4 traded it out for a heavy particle beam cannon comparable to the ones mounted on the venerable MBR-04 Tomahawk destroid. Both had vastly superior armor to the original and had traded their weapon clusters for an integral EU-11 laser cannon on the right weapon armature and a tri-barrel pulsed plasma cannon on the left. The older VHT-1A2 Centaur, on the other hand, while comparable to the -1A3s and -1A4s in every other aspect, retained not only the six-inch main gun, but also the older weapon clusters on its weapon armatures. The VHT-1A2 had proven its worth during the post-war conflicts and had been procured by the Tactical Corps for anti-infantry duties.

The Centaur drifted to the side and sprouted weapon arms and legs to anchor itself to the ground in centaur mode as another, almost identical hovertank emerged behind it, this one a newer VHT-1A3 Centaur. The two tanks were followed by a platoon of soldiers in Tactical Corps Desert Division battle armor with LR-20 laser rifles.

The battle ended **very** quickly and messily after that. A short-barreled six-inch cannon loaded with canister was murder on infantry. Two merely accelerated the carnage. By that point, the Centaurs' other weapons and infantry support were largely superfluous.

The Desert Division lieutenant, one Neil O'Brady -- half-Irish, but born and raised in Arizona -- looked around after the clean up, "So, lieutenant, what now?"

"Well," Alan said, "we hold the gate, but there's still a ship sitting over our pyramid. Whatever shall we do?" He paused, then answered his own rhetorical question, "We take the ship."

"Uhh... how?" Nikki frowned. "We don't even know how these jokers got down here."

"We have rope," Alan shrugged. "We have demo and tank guns. You do the math, sergeant. I want that ship."

"Well, good luck with that," Rodney piped up. "Try not to get killed. Let me know how it turns out."

Alan looked at him, "Who do you think's going to fly that ship once we take it?"

"Umm... would now be a bad time to mention that I have a, um, 'problem' with heights?" Daniel asked hesitantly. Alan looked at him blankly, and he coughed and added, "I mean, you'll need someone to read everything you find up there so you don't accidentally activate the self-destruct or something like that, won't you?"

Alan closed his eyes for a moment to think, "Right, of course. Thank you, Doctor Jackson." He looked around for the last civilian in the group.

Saryanna merely met his gaze and raised a challenging eyebrow.

* * *

"Skaara! Skaara!"

The chief looked up and recognized the approaching runner, "What is it, Nabeh?"

His long-time friend paused to catch his breath and reported, "The outsiders. They are fighting Ra. And they are winning."

* * *

Author's Postscript:

One thing I intend to do with this 'fic is to give some screen time to some of the less frequently seen mecha in the Robotech universe. The Centaur here is the only mecha which hails exclusively from the old comics that I will include. I just like it so much that I'm willing to diverge from the official website just to include it.

As you can see above, I'm also making my own interpretation of the Centaur and its exact capabilities, armaments, and history, though I am drawing ideas on it from other secondary sources as well.

And yes, the Centaur does fit through the stargate, if just barely. There was a discussion over this at Space Battles.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Closer to Home (4/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

Alan shaded his eyes with his hand as the fire team climbed up the side of the alien ship. They were going to mount demolition charges to supplement the Centaurs' firepower to hopefully breach the ship's hull enough for them to board the alien ship. Given they were using their entire supply of demo, along with what was left of Saryanna's stock, he suspected the explosives alone would be enough, but he wasn't about to take chances. He stood next to the rest of Amos's section, which included the platoon's missile team, while Nikki's section remained inside to hold the gateroom itself and protect the civilians. O'Brady's platoon, being the desert specialists, were in a loose perimeter around the pyramid. The Centaur hovertanks themselves were deployed at a distance, ready to fire once the charges were in place and the team was clear.

Well, mostly ready.

Sgt. Pierre "Digger" Renard, commanding NCO of the cavalry team sent to provide heavy support, was having trouble with one of his two Centaurs. One of the VHT-1A3's weapon armatures was seizing up again.

Although the ATAC was the most recognizable tank force in the Armies of the Southern Cross, they were hardly the only tankers in the ASC. Attempting to coordinate between multiple branches every time armor support was needed would be a nightmare, and the ATAC's mecha of choice, the VHT-2 Spartas, had a few gaping flaws that precluded their use in conventional armored tactics, starting with the open cockpit and moving on down through fixed instead of turreted weapons to their complete lack of anti-personnel defenses. This all meant that the Tactical Corps and each of its specialized Divisions had armored units of their own, using a mix of Centaur hovertanks and tracked tanks like the M-21 Anaconda and M-23 Highlander. Digger and his team were Double Dee tankers and proud of it. As far as they were concerned, the ATACs were tankers in name only.

He cursed again as he identified the problem, "We've got sand gumming up one of the microhydraulics again. I told them to replace that damned valve two weeks ago."

Cpl. John Jackson -- no relation to Dr. Daniel Jackson -- frowned as he hauled himself out from where he had been cleaning the Centaur's hoverjet intakes -- although the desert-modified Centaurs were rated for weeks of operation, they weren't taking any chances with either the alien environment or the presence of hostiles -- and asked, "Wait, I thought the Ell-Tee was handling that?"

"Yeah, she was," Digger replied. "Swore she'd have the valves in within ten days."

John did the math. Ten days from two weeks ago was...

"Aw, hell."

"Yup," Digger said with sardonic grin beneath his helmet. "They're probably sitting on her old desk back at Niamey right now."

It was actually pretty typical of things for the unit. Fort Niamey was not a particularly important location, so units stationed there were always coming up short on replacement parts and supplies. In fact, the reason the lieutenant wasn't here with them was because the other two Centaurs in the section -- including the lieutenant's -- were down for maintenance, one due to a major hydraulics leak that had sprung up on the trek from Fort Niamey to the SGC, the other for a full hoverjet overhaul that was already six months overdue. And they were already two tanks short to begin with.

John sighed in resignation, "Guess I'll just have to live with it, sarge." The VHT-1A3 was John's tank. Between the two, Digger had chosen the older VHT-1A2 when they had first been assigned, and he didn't seem to regret the decision at all since then.

* * *

Heru'ur was a mighty Goa'uld who served as an underlord to his "father," the Supreme System Lord Ra, providing tactical expertise in military operations against any System Lord who might grow too ambitious. He was Ra's chief enforcer, and it was only his own realistic assessment of their forces that kept him from becoming one of those ambitious System Lords.

Contrary to the Goa'uld standard, Ra did not become Supreme System Lord by being an arrogant fool.

Now, though, Heru'ur was presented with a puzzle, a puzzle that took the form of some very cryptic orders from Ra. Bring his best troops to Abydos through the chappa'ai.

What fool of a System Lord would declare war on Ra by invading Abydos? The conditions were so harsh and primitive that it took decades to produce sufficient naquadah to be worth the trip to harvest it. He dismissed the question. He would learn soon enough, when he tore the answers from their screaming servants.

"Jaffa! Kree!"

* * *

Nikki's section was watching the stargate and babysitting the three civilians simultaneously. One team favored the heavier AR-25 Wolverine assault rifles over the FA5 carbines, and the extra firepower was welcome.

The first sign that something was wrong was the humming and the light.

"Move!" Wally warned, recognizing the sound, but it was too late.

A series of rings descended from the light around the three civilians and flashed. When the rings rose up again, it revealed more of the enemy, who were quickly cut down.

But the distraction was enough as the stargate initiated behind them, engulfing Pvt. Carstairs and annihilating most of his body before he even had a chance to scream.

* * *

"Ell-Tee, we've got a situation here," Nikki's voice suddenly burst over Alan's radio. "Hostiles through the gate, and we've just lost the civilians. They just... disappeared, got swapped out with more hostiles. We can't hold the gateroom."

"Fall back," he ordered. "Fall back!"

He looked up at where the team was setting the last of the charges and cursed under his breath as he saw dozen unidentified aircraft looping around from the far side of the pyramid ship. They altered course and came screaming down toward them.

"Cover!" he roared in warning.

* * *

"Uh, where are we?" Daniel asked, looking around.

"I... I think we're on the ship," Rodney murmured as he too took in their surroundings. The two scientists blanched as they saw the two people waiting for them. Both were leveling staff weapons at them.

Saryanna stepped forward between the two, raising a pistol. It was not the M-37 Weasel 9x21mm pistol that was standard-issue for the ASC and the same pistols that Daniel and Rodney were reluctantly carrying. Instead, it was the much more powerful M-39 Mesa Eagle .44 Magnum.

She fired it one-handed. Two sharp cracks, and the Horus Guards went down. She safed and holstered the pistol and walked forward, pausing to reach down and pick up the staff weapons. She looked back at them and tossed one of the staff weapons at Daniel, who awkwardly caught it, and cocked an eyebrow at them, "Well? What are you waiting for? We still have a ship to capture, don't we?"

* * *

Outside, the Death Gliders were strafing the scattered troops with little accuracy. The Centaurs were on the move, trying to stay clear of the the alien aircrafts' line of fire. With the way the energy blasts exploded on contact with the ground, the tankers had no interest in testing their armor against it.

As they made another strafing pass, Amos frowned, "Is it just me, or do they have some really piss-poor air support? I think the Taffies would be **insulted** if we sent them against these guys."

"Maybe," Alan replied, "but they can still get lucky. I'd rather not take that chance. Amos, get your missile team up here. I want those birds out of my sky before they have a chance to make another pass."

The enemy aircraft split up, half going for the Centaurs, the other half splitting off again into two groups of three, one trio trying for the scattered Desert Division lines, the other going after where Alan and Amos's section were hunkered down.

The three that attacked the Desert Division had little success. The infantry were just scattered too far apart to be vulnerable to their relatively inaccurate, slow-firing cannons. The Desert Division's return fire was slightly more accurate and far more numerous, and the laser rifles proved quite effective, punching through their thin armor and downing one of them, causing the other two to veer off.

The six attacking the tanks broke into two flights of three and attacked from different angles, boxing the tanks in, and were met with anti-aircraft fire. One flight vanished under a hail of Viper missiles, each taking at least three missiles, far in excess of what was needed to destroy them. Of the other flight, one took several plasma pulses before tumbling to the ground out of control, while laser fire skewered another. The microhydraulics on Cpl. Jackson's hovertank's pulse plasma cannon armature chose exactly the wrong moment to sieze up as he tried to track over to the last one. The last Death Glider hammered Jackson's Centaur, leaving it a smoking ruin, before Digger slashed it pieces with more laser fire.

The three that tried for the TaC-Recon soldiers were the worst off. Each of the four members of the missile team in Amos's section was armed with an RL-6 missile thrower. Each RL-6 held six Tarantula missiles and could be fired as fast as one could pull the trigger. The Tarantulas were guided by both low-light optics and active radar, designed to penetrate armor on impact and then detonate its thermite warhead within the target, immolating the target from the inside out. Although the Tarantulas had lighter warheads than the Centaur's Vipers, the Death Glider's light armor was far more fragile than what the Tarantula and Viper were designed to fight.

It only took one salvo to shoot them down.

The two surviving aircraft fled to face their god's wrath, and Alan watched helplessly as the alien ship began to take off.

* * *

In the pyramid, Nikki's section was in a fighting retreat, leap-frogging with one team falling back while the other two covered them, even as more and more hostiles poured through the active stargate. The last to exit the gateroom was Cpl. Alistair Green, who decided to leave the enemy a gift. He braced his AR-25 Wolverine and pulled a cobalt grenade from his belt, yanking the pin and underarming it into the gateroom, where it rolled across the floor.

He bugged out soon after.

"What the hell was that, Al?" the sarge demanded, her hazel eyes blazing.

"Grenade," he shrugged, not understanding what the big deal was.

"Are you forgetting what's **in** the gateroom, corporal?"

He thought about it. Then his eyes widened, "Oh, hell."

Inside the gateroom, the cobalt grenade -- a multi-purpose anti-personnel/light anti-mecha weapon -- rolled up against the precious and fragile cylindrical device the other section had brought through the stargate.

And it detonated.

* * *

"Admiral!" came an alarmed cry. "We've lost the signal from the beacon!"

Vanessa's head snapped up, "Open the stargate!" She watched anxiously as the stargate's chevrons locked... but the final chevron refused to engage. They tried twice more.

"Ma'am, chevron seven will not engage."

The admiral closed her eyes and then opened them and brought up another file, a manifest of Expeditionary Force ships under construction, maintenance, or refit. Although she had taken command of the SGC, she still had her responsibilities to the fleet.

There. UES Tisiphone, a Tristar-class cruiser nearly ready for her shakedown cruise.

She bolted to her feet and called out, "Prep a shuttle and get on the horn with the Factory Satellite! I want Tisiphone combat-loaded and ready to launch by the time I get there!"

* * *

UES Tisiphone was a Tristar-class cruiser, the backbone of both ASC and UEEF fleets at this point in time. The Tristars were developed from the hard-earned lessons of the Robotech War. The Earth-built ships of the Robotech War -- such as the Armor-class carriers and the Oberth-class destroyers -- had been designed with the thought of translating modern naval warfare to outer space. The Armors had been built to form the core of Earth's budding fleet, with Oberths as heavy escort. The larger Tokugawa-class battleships that hadn't been completed until after the Rain of Death had been built along the same design philosophy. Missiles, fighters, and mecha had been envisioned as the main striking arm of the fleet.

Against the massive cannon-heavy armament of Zentraedi warships, this had proven fatal. While missiles, fighters, and mecha **were** indeed effective against Zentraedi warships, their particle beam and laser cannon armament meant that most fighters and mecha no longer had a mother ship to return to after they destroyed their targets. The Tristar and other second-generation Earth ships took those lessons to heart, armed with heavy particle beam cannons and rail guns for their main striking power, while keeping a generous complement of fighters and mecha to defend against the same and launch similar strikes.

Captain Tyler O'Neil had flying in his blood. His father had been a pilot in the U.S. Air Force, and Tyler had chosen to follow in his footsteps and joined the UEDF Spacy. He had served aboard the SDF-1 as a Valkyrie pilot during the Robotech War. He hadn't flown as part of the illustrious Skull Squadron, though it wasn't for lack of trying for the post. The Skulls had been the most prestigious squadron in the war -- earning a spot on that squadron practically guaranteed your career, as evidenced by the likes of Admiral Hunter or Captain Sterling -- but O'Neil had risen to squadron leader status with Viking Squadron, leading them against the Zentraedi during the devastating Rain of Death. Now, though, he was about to get his first ship command, UES Tisiphone. About three days ahead of schedule. With a top secret mission. And a flag officer on board.

Joy.

The yard dogs assured him that the ship was fully tested and in working order, but there was a **reason** ships took a shakedown cruise before going into action. The SDF-1 had been incredibly lucky to have as few malfunctions as it did... and being stranded in Pluto's orbit without a fold drive would be the least that could go wrong with this. The builder's trials hadn't tested the fold drives on long range folds, and he had a gut feeling this mission wasn't going to be somewhere local.

"Captain, the admiral's shuttle is on final approach."

"Understood," he nodded. "XO, you have the conn."

"I have the conn," his XO responded formally.

Tyler left the bridge to greet the admiral. Maybe now he'd get some answers.

* * *

Gen. Carter watched as UES Tisiphone nosed out of the Factory Satellite and came to a decision. She bolted for the ship that had brought her here, a Tokugawa-class battleship, UES Leonidas. The Tokugawas suffered from the same flawed design philosophy that had slaughtered the Armors and Oberths of the Robotech War, but refits and modifications brought them up to a reasonable standard. Still, they remained undergunned for their size and had been relegated to second-line transport functions.

UES Leonidas had come to Earth and picked up heavy machinery -- mostly mining equipment -- and supplies for one of Earth's extra-solar colonies, along with a squadron of TASC pilots and their veritechs, and was delaying its return a little so they could ferry Gen. Carter back to Space Station Liberty before moving on with the rest of their mission. Colonel Jacob Manning was a good officer, trustworthy and reliable under pressure. Transferred to UES Leonidas from the United Earth Marine Corps when there was some talk of converting the Tokugawas into assault ships for launching transatmospheric operations, he had remained in command when the project fell through due to lack of sufficient data; no one wanted a repeat of the blunders made when Earth's first-generation ships had been built. He knew his ship inside and out, and more importantly, he had the confidence of his crew and trusted Sam not to get him and his crew killed.

She had a feeling Admiral Leeds would need all the help she could get.

* * *

Author's Postscript:

Note that that's O'Neil with one L, not two.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Closer to Home (5/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

As UES Tisiphone defolded in the target system, Vanessa began to have doubts. Tisiphone hadn't completed her shakedown cruise yet, and her hangar bays were virtually empty. They had only two squadrons of veritech fighters instead of the twelve they were supposed to have and none of the auxiliary ships or strike fighters, and the fighters and most of the pilots were as untested as the ship herself.

"Defold complete. We're detecting a starship over the target planet. It's deploying mecha."

"How many?"

"Approximately forty craft, ma'am."

Vanessa frowned, "That's it?"

"Receiving transmission from Leonidas. It's General Carter."

"On screen," Vanessa ordered. "So, how do you want to play this, General?"

The older woman shook her head, "This is your show, Admiral. I'm just along for the ride."

"Give us two squadrons and hang back, then," Vanessa said. "If they're hostile, Earth will need to know."

"Understood. Leonidas out."

* * *

Captain Anne-Marie Redding, Tactical Armored Space Corps and commanding officer of Angel Squadron, waited in the cockpit of her VF-7 Sylphid veritech fighter. Angel Squadron was aboard UES Leonidas to be ferried to their assigned post at one of the extra-solar colonies, a nice, warm agricultural world called Harvest, according to her brief.

This, wherever this was, was a little out of their way, but she wasn't about to let an opportunity to give her squadron more flight time and possibly even combat experience slip through her fingers. Besides, it was bound to be a hell of a lot more interesting than being boxed up and ferried off to watch over some boring farm planet.

She grunted slightly as the catapult engaged, throwing her veritech into space, and quickly maneuvered into position alongside UES Tisiphone's port side. As a fresh squadron, the Angels were flying at their full strength of fifteen, a rarity in active duty squadrons.

"Angel Twelve, you're falling behind," she warned. "Tighten it up, people. We've got two flags watching us now. Let's show 'em what we've got."

On the starboard side of Tisiphone flew the Black Knights, a UEEF fleet squadron that was actually assigned to Leonidas. They were flying the venerable VF-1 Valkyries. While some might discount the older veritechs, the fact remained that the Valkyries were the only veritech fighters that had been tested under fire in true wartime conditions, and the Black Knights, while a second-line squadron, were no slouches. The Knights were down three fighters, which were undergoing maintenance.

* * *

The unlikely boarding party crept through the ship. So far, it looked like no one had realized they had gotten aboard -- and how could they? The idea was preposterous. Who would be insane enough to send only three boarders? -- and there hadn't been a scramble to get them... yet.

"So... what are we looking for?" Daniel asked quietly.

"A computer terminal," Saryanna replied. "We'll need schematics to find the bridge. If we can hijack and operate the ship remotely, even better."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up," Rodney spoke up. "Why didn't you say so? I think I saw one down a side corridor ten meters back."

Carefully, the three would-be saboteurs backtracked to the corridor where Rodney had, correctly, thought he'd seen a computer terminal. It took him a few minutes of fumbling before he could interface his tablet computer with the control crystals. He loaded up some translation software and began to work.

Rodney snapped his fingers, "I'm in. Full schematics, and if you give me a few, I think we can hijack some key systems."

"What about emergency systems?" Saryanna asked.

"Depends on the system," Rodney replied. "Life support and helm control are out, but I can mess with damage control and door controls."

"Seal this area and sabotage damage control," she said. "I have the detonation frequency for those breaching charges."

"How'd you get those?" Daniel frowned.

"The lieutenant used **my** detonators," she snorted. "If we can seal ourselves off and breach the hull with those charges, we can eliminate most of the opposition."

"On it," Rodney nodded, tapping commands in as he spoke.

Suddenly, a door next to them opened, and the Horus Guards who were about to walk through started in surprise. Saryanna and Daniel both leveled their appropriated staff weapons and opened fire, cutting them down.

Saryanna cocked an eyebrow at the aging archaeologist, "For one who claims not to be a warrior, you fight well, Doctor Jackson."

"You pick up a few things when you're at a dig in the middle of nowhere and can't afford professional security," he shrugged.

The pair turned as they heared running footsteps approaching. It seems the weapons fire had attracted attention. They kept firing, until Saryanna leaped through the doorway to meet them.

Saryanna blocked the first staff strike -- they were too close to each other to use the energy bolts effectively -- with a simple block, then released one hand, deflecting her opponent's staff and letting it slide by, overbalancing him as she struck his sternum with her free hand, sending him crashing back into the man behind him. She twirled out of the way of another, jabbing at face with her staff weapon, which he dodged, only to get slammed in the temple as she reversed the staff weapon's motion.

She thrust her weapon the other way, taking another enemy who had circled around her in the abdomen, then flipped the staff to bring the firing end around toward him, incidentally smashing one end into another opponent's chin. She tapped the firing stud, blasting him in the chest at point blank range.

Her heart sang as the battle progressed. She was a diplomat, yes, but she was also Zentraedi. This was literally what she was **made** for: battle. Finally, as the tempo of the battle began to slow as she ran out of enemies, she spun around and drew her magnum with her turn, leveling it at the last enemy and blowing his brains out. There was deep silence after that, soon broken by more running feet. She backed up through the door and looked at Rodney, "Seal the door. Now."

The scientist shook himself out of his amazed trance and tapped a command in.

The door slid shut.

"Um," Rodney said hesitantly, "we're ready. Our area's been sealed off, and the ship's automated damage control systems are off-line."

"Good," she nodded, then tapped in the appropriate frequency into her helmet radio and transmitted.

The breaching charges on the exterior of the ship -- enough to punch through the incredibly tough armor of robotech ships which could, on armor alone, survive things that no Goa'uld ship could survive without shields -- detonated with far more power than necessary for the job at hand, blasting a hole about a two meters in diameter through the hull. Damage control systems which should have automatically sealed the breach or, failing that, sealed off the vented section of the ship failed to respond.

"So, how long should we leave it?" Rodney asked.

"I do not know," the Zentraedi woman admitted. "How long would it take to empty this ship of air?"

"Hard to say," Rodney mused. "Depends on how big a hole we made. Best guess, ten minutes?"

"Supreme Commander Breetai could survive in vacuum for a similar length of time."

"All right," Daniel said, "so... half an hour, then?"

* * *

Eerily calm, Ra picked up his hand device and fitted it over his hand, then turned and used it to slam his First Prime against the far wall. His First Prime, like his personal Horus Guards, was human, a man named Anubis as a reminder of that long ago banished enemy. He was merely the latest in a long line of Anubises.

"I have saboteurs on my ship, and enemy fighters approaching. What do you intend to do about this?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild. The saboteurs had already done enough damage before Ra managed to seal off the affected areas of the ship. Likely more than half his servants aboard ship were dead or dying already.

"We will find the saboteurs and kill them, my lord!"

"A good answer... but not the right one," Ra smirked at the fear flashing through Anubis's eyes. "No. You will find them and bring them to me. Alive and... relatively undamaged."

He released him from the grip of the hand device, and the First Prime scrambled to obey. His first stop was the armory. If his lord god needed them alive, then they would need zat'nik'tels.

Ra turned away to send a message to Heru'ur. He would need to bring more ships as well. His Death Gliders appeared to outnumber the enemy fighters four to three, but it was likely the mother ships carried more.

* * *

Alan peered through his field glasses over the top of the dune. He was lying prone, keeping a low profile as he watched the enemy at the entrance to the pyramid which housed the stargate. One of them in particular stood out as the commanding officer. Surveillance tentatively identified him as one "Heru'ur," based on the conversations they could pick up from the remote mics.

"O'Brady," he said, still watching the leader, "who's your best marksman?"

"Probably Connor," Neil replied. "Why?"

"Get her up here."

Neil turned and gestured with a few hand signals as Alan, and soon, Pvt. Amelia Connor approached in a crouched run. "Sir?" she asked.

"You see Baldy over there?" Alan asked, gesturing slightly.

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"His name's Heru'ur. He's definitely in charge, and from the way he's talking, he's supposed to be Ra's son, Ra being the supposed god who's apparently on that ship up above. Think you can take him from here?"

"Shouldn't be too tough," she replied, unslinging her LR-20 laser rifle from where it hung on her shoulder. She brought it up, lined up the shot, and fired. She broke her shooting posture in surprise, "What the-?"

Energy bolts began peppering their vicinity.

"Personal energy shields," Neil muttered. "The R and D boys are just gonna **love** that."

"Well, lasers are out," Alan sighed. "We'll try bullets next time." He chinned on his helmet radio, "Digger, open fire. Five minute suppression." He looked around, "All right, Nikki, get Amos up. Let's get ready to move."

Neil stared at him, "You want to take our two platoons, barely fifty people, and penetrate a fortified position defended by, conservative estimate, two hundred enemy troops?"

"Well, yeah."

"That's madness!" Neil snapped.

"Madness?" Alan said, his voice dangerously low. "This! Is! RECON!"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure recon involves a lot more sneaking around and a lot less launching of suicidal attacks," Nikki said dryly.

"Tsk," Alan shook his head, "no respect for the classics."

"'Classics'?" Neil snorted. "It's nothing but two hours of historical inaccuracy and pure testosterone."

"Exactly!" Alan agreed enthusiastically. "Besides, if I don't miss my guess, since Corporal Green blew up the fold beacon Amos's section spent so much time on, Earth is probably going to send someone to get us. Now, do we wait here and let them be ambushed by that pyramid ship and an army of soldiers? Or are we going to soldier up and do what we've been trained to do and take that f*cking hill? Besides, we've got a tank, so what are you complaining about?"

* * *

Heru'ur was startled by the laser attack. Had it not been for his personal energy shield, it would have drilled him right in the left temple.

"Jaffa kree!" he commanded, pointing in the general direction of his shields had flared. As the Jaffa opened fire, he turned to retire to the building so he could fulfill Ra's command to bring ships. He certainly wasn't running for cover.

When the first six-inch shell detonated mere meters from him, he abandoned all pretense of dignity and ran.

* * *

In any combat engagement, the primary conventional factor which determines the tide of battle is numbers; whoever has more troops to throw into battle wins. However, there exist things referred to in military parlance as "force multipliers." These are factors which greatly increase the combat effectiveness of a group of combatants, thus multiplying their effective numbers.

The Jaffa Heru'ur had brought were among the best of Ra's forces under his command, making them among the best under the System Lords. This meant that they, unlike most Jaffa, were trained to fight against equivalent forces, not just terrorize a cowed populace. While the ASC's weapons and armor were, overall, superior to the Jaffa's weapons and armor in pure combat ergonomics and effectiveness, it was a relatively minor difference in the end.

The Jaffa had one major force multiplier on their side: They were loyal to their gods unto death.

The two ASC platoons, however, had a much more effective force multiplier in play: Sgt. Renard's Centaur hovertank.

The Centaur hovertank, like most tanks, was heavily armored. It could easily shrug off small arms fire, up to and including grenades and RPGs. The Jaffa's staff weapons hardly scorched the paint. The same could not be said for the effects of the Centaur's six-inch canister shot on the Jaffa. Or the twin 7.62x51mm machine guns. Or the 40x53mm grenade launcher's fragmentation grenades. Or the 20x102mm and 30x173mm autocannons which were at the upper limit of what the Centaur's own armor could stop. And certainly not the tri-laser, which **could** carve through another Centaur's armor, given enough time.

Neither the TaC-Recon troops nor the Double Dees felt an iota of sympathy for the troops on the wrong end of it.

But the Centaur did have limits. Although the Jaffa were easily pushed back into the gateroom, they were soon forced out into the smaller passages that ran throughout the pyramid, passages which were far too small for the hovertank to follow, leaving it to the infantry to root them out while the Centaur waited.

"Great," groused Pvt. Cynthia Dietrich, one of the Double Dees. "Another bug hunt."

* * *

Sgt. Amos Bradley gripped his FA5 carbine as he and PFC Jack Angler moved through the darkened corridors. Not willing to leave the Centaur without infantry support, they were forced to pair off in order to cover the pyramid in a reasonable amount of time.

Suddenly, Jack was flung against the wall, his helmet cracking against the stone, and Amos spun, bringing his carbine up to his shoulder. It was Baldy, aka Heru'ur. He fire a short, controlled burst.

Heru'ur smirked as the bullets slammed into his personal energy shield harmlessly. Amos blanched and continued firing, this time on full auto. Advanced recoil compensation and the overall layout of the carbine, which put the barrel directly in-line with the stock, meant it was actually quite easy to keep the weapon on target as the underlord slowly approached, savoring the moment.

Amos backed away, ejecting the empty magazine and slamming a new one in, then continued to fire, until the slide locked again on an empty chamber. As he backed away and found himself brought up short by a wall, Amos did the only thing left he could think of. He hefted his carbine and threw it.

CLONK!

The look of surprise on Heru'ur's face was worth it as the heavy but slow-moving makeshift projectile bypassed the personal energy shield and conked him on the forehead. Heru'ur collapsed.

"Huh. That actually worked," Amos stared. He chinned his helmet radio on, "Hey, Ell-tee, I think I just bagged us a god-prince."

* * *

Author's Postscript:

I'd almost feel sorry for Ra and Heru'ur if I weren't the one doing this to them. And the way Goa'uld personal energy shields discriminate between high-velocity projectiles and slow-moving projectiles mean that they're perfect candidates for having the Superman "throw the gun at them" stunt actually work.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Closer to Home (6/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

"Someone was able to seal off the upper half of the ship and repressurize it before any damage could have been done up there," Rodney reminded Saryanna.

"I know."

"That's still probably a lot of soldiers to fight through," Rodney pointed out, "and crazy man and I aren't exactly in peak condition. We're over fifty years old, for God's sake!"

"Audacity," she replied, "always audacity."

"Great," he muttered, "now she's quoting French revolutionaries."

"Well," Daniel shrugged, "they'd never expect us to attack, would they?"

Distracted by the discussion, none of them noticed the Horus Guards until it was too late. A blue bolt of energy arced into Daniel's body, causing him to collapse. Rodney blinked, then drew his M-37 Weasel automatic pistol. Firing a 9x21mm round from a fifteen-round double-stacked magazine, the Weasel was the standard sidearm of both branches of the United Earth Defense Forces.

Rodney had never fired a weapon in anger, and his training was rudimentary at best, but he at least held the weapon right and kept it pointed at the enemy's general direction.

However, fifteen rounds go very fast when you don't really know what you're doing.

Saryanna was considerably more effective, as befits a Zentraedi, dancing out of the way of the blue energy bolts and returning fire with the staff weapon she still carried. While Rodney tried to figure out the magazine release, they filled the corridor with a synchronized volley that left her nowhere to dodge. One bolt struck Rodney, who had just managed to reload the pistol, while another struck Saryanna.

Rodney dropped like a doll with its strings cut. Saryanna's suddenly nerveless fingers let the staff weapon fall clattering to the the floor, and she snarled and advanced bare-handed.

The Horus Guards backed away for a moment. They dared not fire again and risk their god's wrath by killing the intruder. Anubis waved forward another group, held in reserve. The six of them leveled staff weapons -- deadly, yes, but not as deadly as a second zat'nik'tel shot would have been -- and fired.

With the CVR-1 body armor she wore, Saryanna took six direct hits before finally collapsing, her hands less than a foot from wrapping around the throat of the nearest Horus Guard.

Heru'ur waited and watched. The blow had stunned him, but when he recovered, it had been simple enough to feign continued unconsciousness; his host, after all, **was** unconscious. He needed more information on this new enemy, for they were like no Jaffa he had ever seen. His captors had bound him -- or, rather, his host -- but they seemed to have no idea that he and his host were separate beings. Still, they continued to wear their armor, not even removing the helmets, meaning a quick change of hosts was not an option... yet.

He studied the way they acted. They had clear caste levels, but the superiors did not rebuke their lessers when they spoke out of turn.

Very interesting.

Heru'ur nearly snorted in laughter when they carelessly dropped one of the dead Horus Guards and accidentally activated the ring system control on his gauntlet as it struck the floor.

Alan studied the apparent teleporter system with trepidation and said, "We'll have to go team by team. O'Brady, Renard, keep the pyramid secure. We'll go rescue the civvies." He shot them both a look, "And keep an eye on Baldy here. I don't want him getting loose. Rig him with a grenade if you have to."

As the last of the TaC-Recon platoon beamed themselves up, Digger looked at Neil, who nodded and produced a remote charge, walking up to the Heru'ur and stuffing the explosive into the captive's mouth, sealing it in place with a strip of duct tape.

Heru'ur let loose a muffled groan. His prospects of getting out of this mess by changing hosts just took a sharp plummet.

* * *

"Wha-?" Daniel said as he blinked his eyes groggily. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and his entire body tingled with pins and needles.

The pain caught up with him a moment later, and he bit back a howl.

"So, you awaken," said an odd echo-y voice in the Abydonian tongue. Daniel looked around, blinking at the fuzzy shape before him.

_Where are my glasses?_ was the first errant thought to cross his mind. The second thing he noticed was that his armor was gone.

"Your lenses were damaged when you fell," the voice said again as the figure approached. "Here."

Daniel looked up as the person placed his glasses on his face. One of the lenses was spider-webbed with cracks, while the other had a single large crack down the middle. Before him stood a dark-skinned, slender, effeminate-looking man with an expression that bore enough arrogance to power a reflex cannon.

"Who... who are you?" Daniel asked. It was a challenge getting his mouth to form the words. It was like his muscles weren't responding properly.

"I am your new god," came the reply as the dark-skinned man's eyes glowed. "I am Ra."

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," Daniel muttered. He looked around and saw Rodney, also stripped of his armor, lying in a heap nearby, but found no sign of Saryanna. "Where is she?" he demanded, turning to glare at Ra.

"Your woman suffered significant injury," Ra answered. He turned his back on Daniel and gestured to what looked like a stone coffin -- no, sarcophagus -- off to the side in the elaborately-decorated room. "She is being healed."

Daniel forced himself to his feet, swaying a little before he staggered over to the nearby wall for support. "Let us go," he said.

"Now, why would I do that?" Ra asked, turning to face him. "You invaded my territory, killed my people, and boarded and sabotaged my ship. I should flay you alive for what you have done." He suddenly stalked up to Daniel with surprising speed, lunging toward him with one hand.

Energy arced from the device fitted around Ra's hand and lanced out toward Daniel. It felt like it pierced his brain as the pain forced him to his knees. "Who are you?" Ra demanded. "Where did you come from? What god do you serve?"

"I serve... the great... and powerful... Oz," Daniel ground out defiantly, only to have the pain ease.

"And this... Oz," Ra probed, "what plans has he?"

"He seeks... the All-Spark," Daniel said, slumping down in mock defeat. "With it, he will create a great army to do his bidding."

"And what is this 'all spark'?"

"It is an artifact of great power," Daniel replied. "It shapes machines into walking engines of destruction that bend to his will."

Ra activated the hand device again, sending the archaeologist to the ground, writhing in pain.

"You lie well," Ra complimented him, "but not perfectly. What has this 'Oz' done to earn such loyalty, I wonder? No matter. I shall have the truth from you."

"Oz came to our world when another fleet slaughtered our people and razed our lands," Daniel said, his gaze growing haunted as he recalled the Rain of Death and its aftermath. "He conquered the invaders and took us under his protection. He gave us the weapons to protect ourselves and better serve his dominion."

"Impressive," Ra said. "And his fleet? How many ships does Oz command?"

"The fleet is but a fraction of what it once was," Daniel said, rising back to his feet and sprinkling a little more truth in. "A mere two hundred thousand warships."

"You lie!"

"Do I?" Daniel asked with blunt frankness. It was a fairly good approximation of how many allied Zentraedi ships had survived the Battle of Earth, and most of them were still operational with the UEEF and the colony worlds.

Behind him, the sarcophagus slid open. One of the Horus Guards leaned over and peered in to check on the patient, when suddenly, a slender arm lashed out, crushing his throat. A barely clothed Saryanna vaulted out of the sarcophagus, lashing out in a scissor kick that struck two more Horus Guards. Ra whirled as she landed in a crouch, picking up a staff weapon and twirling it, unleashing a firestorm of blasts around the room, striking several of the Horus Guards present, before dropping into a combat stance.

Anubis was ready for her, and the two engaged in fierce staff to staff combat for several long minutes before breaking away, when suddenly, Saryanna was thrown against the wall.

"Enough!" bellowed Ra, advancing on the Zentraedi diplomat, his hand device humming with power. "You are quite formidable," he declared, "but you will submit to me."

"You seek to intimidate me?" Saryanna snarled through the pain. "You impudent fool. I am Saryanna Demin, Quadrono, Zentraedi Air Force. I fought alongside Supreme Commander Breetai against the Main Fleet. I have faced terrors on the battlefield you could not comprehend. I have seen whole worlds ruined, battled fleets of millions, watched entire civilizations crumble and vanish under our guns. You do not frighten me." She glared at him in pure defiance, "I would crush you beneath my feet, you insignificant worm."

"I am a god!" Ra roared, increasing the power to the hand device.

"There is no god but war!"

* * *

1Lt. Anthony Sinclair, commanding officer of Black Knight Squadron, was comfortably seated in the cockpit of his VF-1J Valkyrie as the two veritech squadrons closed range with the bogeys, leaving Tisiphone in their wake. He was continuing a century-plus-old tradition in his family. Since the invention of the airplane, every single generation had a Sinclair in the cockpit of a combat plane. There had been a Sinclair flying a Nieuport 28, dueling with the Luftstreitkr?te in World War I, and another flying Wildcats against the Zeros of the Imperial Japanese Navy a generation later. Tony's father had flown F-16 Falcons and F-203 Dragon IIs during the Global Civil War, and later, a Valkyrie against the Zentraedi, much like the one Tony himself flew now.

As the range dropped, their sensors developed better resolution on the incoming craft: Fighters of some sort, with forward-swept gull wings that seemed impractical as lift surfaces. There were some thirty-eight of them, up against the twenty-seven veritechs. His thumb twitched as he heard the pure tone of a missile lock, itching to even the odds a little. But they were on weapons tight, and for all their menacing appearance, the bogeys hadn't proven themselves hostile yet. They couldn't fire the first shot, not without at least **trying** peaceful contact. Earth couldn't afford another space war.

Tisiphone was broadcasting a mixture of signals -- voices in a variety of African dialects, visual symbols of heiroglyphs, and so on -- each trying to communicate peaceful intent, the languages chosen based on the apparent Egyptian motif.

They were just entering effective gun range when the bogeys turned to bandits and opened fire, each spitting yellow energy bolts from a pair of forward-mounted cannons at a deplorably slow rate of fire for aircraft guns.

"Knight Leader, Fox Three!" he called, thumbing the firing stud on his HOTAS and unleashing a salvo of active radar homing Stiletto missiles, the workhorse missile of the Robotech War. He ignored the comm chatter as his squadron echoed him and rolled his Valkyrie to evade the enemy fire. He spared no attention for Angel Squadron; that was Captain Redding's job.

"Oh, you did **not** shoot that yellow shit at me!" he muttered as several energy bolts slashed past his cockpit canopy.

To call what happened next a dogfight would be too generous. It was a slaughter.

The Death Gliders didn't fair **too** poorly on the initial pass, taking out two Valkyries and a Sylphid, though they still took disproportionate losses in exchange to the close-range volleys of Stilettos from the Black Knights' Valkyries and Diamondbacks from the Angels' Sylphids. Even so, what happened next was even worse. As the veritech fighters of both squadrons shifted to battloid and spun to continue firing with autocannons and ion pulse cannons, the Death Gliders were shattered from behind before they could recover.

"That was almost too easy," Anne-Marie frowned as the squadron reformed. Her squadron had acquitted themselves well in their first engagement, such as it was. The enemy fighters had been shredded with ridiculous ease.

This first space to space engagement between United Earth and the System Lords would later be labeled The Great Abydonian Turkey Shoot.

"Well, ma'am," drawled 2Lt. George Banner, one of her team leaders, in his thick Texan accent, "remember what we trained against. Those bandits were flyin' like conventional fighters, not veritechs or battlepods. 'Magine tryin' to fight 'em in an ol' Lancer Two or Pirate."

"Point taken, Tex," she replied. "Okay, Squad Two, you're up." On paper, a veritech squadron was made up of a lead team of three and two squads (or sections in hovertank units) of six. Each squad was led by a 1Lt. (or 2Lt. among naval squadrons) -- the squadron's executive officer or third-in-command -- and divided into two teams of three. The secondary team in each squad was led by a 2Lt. (or 3Lt. in naval squadrons), though hovertank units, with their infantry roots, often made do with sergeants leading the secondary teams. The Angels' Squad Two was armed with light anti-ship loadouts. Although there were no nuclear warheads or reflex missiles readily available for the unplanned mission, each of Squad Two's fighters **was** packing a quartet of powerful anti-ship Derringer missiles on their fuselage hardpoints.

Squad Two formed up, six fighters moving in formation to bombard the enemy ship with two dozen heavy plasma warheads.

They had no idea that the warship they faced had shields that could easily shrug off such firepower.

Of course, Tisiphone carried **far** more firepower.

* * *

Ra turned in surprise, releasing Saryanna, as the ship began to shake. The heavy plasma warheads that caused the pyramid ship's shields to waver were soon followed by heavy railgun rounds and ship-grade particle beams. The entire vessel began to shudder under the onslaught, and the doors to the pel'tak burst open as the TaC-Recon platoon stormed it.

Saryanna lunged at Ra, who dodged aside. Her nervous system was still recovering, giving him the precious few seconds he needed to bolt from the room to his emergency escape.

KAWOOSH!

Ra dove through the stargate, followed by a hail of bullets. Wherever he was going, he was going to be licking his wounds for a while. Saryanna looked around, then covered her chest, suddenly self-conscious. Her armor had been removed before she had been placed in the sarcophagus, and her clothing still bore the damage from the staff weapons, most of which had struck her chest.

Daniel looked at Alan and cocked an eyebrow, "What took you guys so long?"

Rodney finally stirred and sat up, "What the hell is going on?"

"Ell-tee," Nikki spoke up, staring out the pel'tak window, "there's a Tristar trying to blow us to kingdom come."

Alan looked over, "Well, let 'em know we've taken the ship."

"How?" she looked down at the console. "I don't know what any of these controls do."

"Out of the way," Rodney said, pushing her aside. He began to tap on the controls, then shook his head, "I can't upload our authentication codes. I've got us an audio link, but that's it."

"So, how do we prove we're not under duress?" Alan frowned. His gaze swung over to Nikki as he stroked his chin speculatively.

She returned his gaze in confusion, then her eyes widened in realization, "Oh, no. No no no."

"You've got the voice for it, sergeant," he pointed out, "and your voice might be the only thing between us and one hell of a blue on blue."

"And I'll bet you want me to sing some sappy Minmei pop song too, don't you?" she snorted as she walked back to the console.

"Uhh..." Daniel and Rodney and Alan exchanged uncertain looks.

"Well, screw that," she said. She cleared her throat and began to sing, "Axes flash, broadswords swing..."

* * *

Author's Postscript:

Any confusion among the lieutenant ranks is, well, apparently the navy's fault. Here's a quick summary:

Paygrade: Every Other Branch Rank - Naval Rank

O-6: Colonel - Captain

O-5: Lieutenant Colonel - Commander

O-4: Major - Lieutenant Commander

O-3: Captain - First Lieutenant

O-2: First Lieutenant - Second Lieutenant

O-1: Second Lieutenant - Third Lieutenant

Note that in the real US Navy, instead of First Lieutenant, Second Lieutenant, and Third Lieutenant, they have Lieutenant, Lieutenant (junior grade), and Ensign, respectively. The First Lieutenant, Second Lieutenant, and Third Lieutenant ranks are used here instead because of dialogue from the Macross segment.

It should also be noted that the UEDF clearly does field enlisted fighter pilots, unlike the US military today.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Closer to Home (7/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

Field Marshal Anatole Eli Leonard, Supreme Commander of the Armies of the Southern Cross and charged with the defense of Earth and her colonies, studied the report, a grim look on his face.

"Our troops did well. Casualties were very light, considering the odds they were up against," he looked up at the woman standing before him. "But those people, **my** people, are still dead, Admiral. And now we might have another war on our hands. This is a fine mess you've dumped in my lap."

In total, the ground forces had taken ten casualties. PFC Jenkins's injuries had been painful but superficial at worst, but the unstable wormhole hadn't left enough of Pvt. Carstairs to identify. Cpl. Jackson had been killed along with his tank; his driver had survived but was badly wounded. Two more from Lt. O'Brady's platoon had been too close to one of the enemy aircraft's strafing runs, leaving one dead and one wounded. The remaining four casualties -- three injured and one killed -- had been taken while storming the ship. Considering they had been up against literally hundreds of enemy soldiers, this had been very impressive.

"Field Marshal, while they were seconded to me, they were my people as well," RAdm. Leeds responded. "I feel for their losses, and my people shed blood to get them back. So, now, we citizens of Earth and its colonies have another frontier to deal with and a chance to get our troops ready for anything else that might threaten us. You did read the preliminary report on the 'spoils of war'?"

"Crystal-based technology which will take months or years to adapt, miniaturized plasma weaponry, superior anti-gravity, advanced energy shields, and this wonder mineral that might be able to replace protoculture as a power source," Leonard rattled off. "Yes, Admiral, I have." He rose and turned away from the admiral, looking out the window at Monument City.

"I just wonder if it will be worth the lives this might cost us in the future," he said quietly. As she opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand and said quickly, "Don't worry, Admiral. I'm recommending to the Prime Minister that he approve this Stargate Command of yours, and in fact, I'd like to rotate my troops through it to give them some field experience. Earth can't afford not to have a stargate program now, and if we can use it to advanced the Gloval Initiative and spread humanity even further, that's even better." He turned and looked her in the eyes, "I'm only concerned that the stargate may very well be a Pandora's box. Let's hope we never have a need to close it."

"We're agreed on that, sir."

"So," he said, "I understand you propose to base our stargate operations off-world on the planet Abydos."

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "We still don't know Earth's address, so any operations from Earth will have difficulty on recovery. By keeping Earth's stargate disabled except for outgoing wormholes to supply Abydos, we ensure Earth's security."

"Basing on Abydos will require a significant amount of infrastructure," he pointed out, "something more permanent than the prefabs we have set up now."

"We have the cooperation of the native Abydonians," she said, "so manpower won't be an issue."

"Who do you have in mind to set it up?"

"We're still looking at potential candidates," she hedged after a pause. Building up the infrastructure needed to support operations from Abydos would be a nightmare, and with the reconstruction and the Gloval Initiative, people with those skills were in extremely high demand.

"I thought so," he nodded. "Most of the people with the necessary skills are too visible or too critical to the colonies. I do have someone in mind, though. He's an American, former general in the Air Force with significant civil engineering experience after he retired. He's currently managing reconstruction in South America as a civilian, but they don't need his skills anymore. The job down there is essentially done."

"Thank you, sir," she said, relief flooding through her. That had been one of the biggest hurdles in the SGC's way.

* * *

"This... is highly irregular, General," Capt. Peter Durban frowned. Durban wasn't, technically, military. Although he had served in the then-new Tactical Space Corps hunting space pirates -- a relatively new phenomenon that coupled rogue Zentraedi bloodthirstiness with plain old human greed -- he had gotten out four years ago and was now captaining a civilian bulk liner. The ship wasn't fancy, converted from the battered hulk of a Tou Redir scout ship, but it was fold-capable and one of many ships like it owned by the various colonization corporations.

"I realize that, Captain," Gen. Carter said apologetically, "but it's been in the pipeline for some time. While Medusa's biosphere is compatible, the predators remain a threat that the UEDF is uncomfortable with. I understand your passengers are aware of the risk, but we have recently found a much more secure planet for colonization."

"What's the catch?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

She sighed, "There will be a significant military presence, and there is an indigenous population present as well, displaced humans from Ancient Egypt. The planet is also extremely arid. It's a desert world."

"What, we're going to Tatooine?" he snorted. "General, these people are **miners**."

"And there will be extensive mining operations on Abydos."

"I don't know about this, General..." he said hesitantly.

"This ship is contracted out to those colonists, Captain, to take them where they want to go," Gen. Carter pointed out. "It should be their decision."

"Well," he shrugged in defeat, "you've got me there, General."

* * *

"Easy, eeeeasy, easyyyy," CPO Virgil Reed called as he oversaw the installation of the photovoltaic panels. Someone had come up with the idea of fold-towing the derelict hulks of the Zentraedi ships -- ships that were so badly damaged that they would never fly under their own power again -- to the orbits of colonial planets. Add a power supply to maintain passive sensors and IFF analysis and networking -- they still relied on protoculture to power the weapons -- and a computer with enough brains to not shoot the friendlies or civvies, and you had an instant automated defense satellite, freeing up the actual warships for patrol and anti-piracy operations. The Sol system itself had a fleet of warships patrolling it, due as much to the density of traffic as to the presence of the United Earth Government's administrative center.

Chief Reed was a Seabee, a member of the UEEF's Construction Battalions, and assembling these makeshift defense satellites had become his specialty. It was an exciting job, as one never knew what could happen in these old wrecks. Some were in near-mint condition, with just a massive hole where the engines used to be before being vaporized by a reflex cannon beam or nuclear warhead; others were dangerous collections of live munitions and pressurized compartments one ding away from exploding. The munitions were why EOD cross-training were critical for teams assigned to these tasks.

Still, he'd never seen or even heard of this planet before. They'd been hauled off of their expected assignment to handle this, which meant that someone upstairs felt this world was pretty important. Honestly, from up here, he didn't get what the big deal was. It was a pale brown planet, and given the scuttlebutt about the Double Dees getting mobilized, it was probably the miserable dust ball it looked like from orbit.

* * *

Skaara watched in ill-concealed amazement as the Earthers moved supplies and equipment around their base. They worked with practiced synchronization that astonished him, and it seemed like the buildings had gone up overnight. They commanded giant machines that helped with their tasks or stood menacingly in defensive positions.

A week after they had driven Ra from Abydos, they began streaming in through the stargate, a seemingly unending flow of men and machines. The terms would have meant nothing to Skaara, but the ASC had fielded an entire battalion from the Engineering Corps. Literally hundreds of combat engineers set to work building up the base. With years of experience constructing in environments much harsher than a mere desert, the base had been built within a matter of hours out of folding prefab buildings and interlocking ceramic grating to form the foundation and runways for the veritech fighters and shuttles.

They may have claimed not to be gods, but the wonders they had wrought so quickly gave lie to that claim. It was as if they had commanded the desert itself to spawn their new homes. The greatest wonder of all, though, was their offer to teach their ways to his people, to share their knowledge and power.

They who stood against the gods, sent the mighty Ra fleeing for his life, and even now, held Ra's son captive... they treated their power as though it were as common and ordinary as sand.

"Skaara? Are you all right?"

The voice jerked him out of his introspection, and he turned to face Daniel Jackson, the "archaeologist" who wanted to know more about his people.

"I am well, Dan-yel," he said. "My mind wandered."

Daniel chuckled, "It happens." He too turned his gaze onto the base buzzing with activity. "It's really an impressive sight, isn't it?" he commented, echoing Skaara's thoughts. "I don't think they really understand how just far we've come since your people were taken from us."

"You can do... all of this," Skaara said, gesturing with one hand. "Why do you help us? What have we to offer you? Why do you not simply take and conquer? Why not enslave us as Ra did before you?"

"It's not our way," Daniel said quietly. "Besides, if we can do all this, what need have we for slaves? We need allies, Skaara, places of refuge, for there are far more dangerous things out there than a few maniacs with god complexes."

"Ra will return," Skaara reminded him. "He will return with his ships and armies, and he will seek terrible vengeance for embarrassing him so. And he will kill all of us who witnessed it."

"Let him come. We have ships and armies of our own."

* * *

Capt. Tyler O'Neil stood impassively on the bridge of Tisiphone, watching as the last of the defensive satellites were maneuvered into position. In all, there were nineteen of the deadly floating wrecks, some of them packing enough punch to kill a Tristar. Of course, automated and immobile, they wouldn't last long in a real fight, but they were good enough. They certainly had enough firepower to total a ship like the one they had captured.

Tisiphone had been the first ship to be reassigned to the new SGC, with Leonidas quickly following. There were now eight capital ships orbiting Abydos, but Tisiphone and Leonidas were the largest; the rest were a mix of the smaller Battle-class cruisers and Banshee-class destroyers. With Admiral Leeds back on Earth, he was left to oversee the completion of the defense network.

"Defense network online," Ens. Wildman reported. "Weapons disabled."

Tyler nodded, "Proceed."

"Greenbacks, you have a go."

One of Tisiphone's on-board squadrons -- a fresh squadron of Alpha fighters, so new you could almost smell the fresh paint off of them -- began their flight through the satellites' engagement zone.

"All systems green. Defense network is recognizing the IFF signal."

"Greenback Sixteen, disable IFF," Tyler ordered, selecting one of the Alpha pilots at random. The "sixteen" referred to the Alpha's specific position within the squadron, 1-6, which meant it was Squad One, Plane Six.

"Tisiphone to Greenback Sixteen, disable IFF. Repeat, Tisiphone to Greenback Sixteen, disable IFF."

"Defense network still flagging Greenback Sixteen as friendly."

Tyler nodded in acknowledgement. That didn't really tell them anything. On one hand, the defense network's IFF computers were supposed to be able to "remember" a friendly once it entered its engagement envelope. On the other hand, it could just be flagging everything as a friendly.

"Send the Ghosts in," he said calmly. The Ghosts were a squadron of drone variant Alpha fighters. Unlike the Greenbacks, they wouldn't be broadcasting friendly IFF, and while armed only with training weapons, they were programmed to make an attack run on the Greenbacks.

"Ghosts online, entering engagement zone."

"Defense network going active, sending audio challenge."

The audio challenge was the second layer of authentication. In case a ship's IFF transponder were disabled or an enemy vessel were commandeered, the crew would still be able to give the correct verbal response and not get blown out of space, assuming they had a radio. The pilotless drones, naturally, would not be providing the correct response.

"Ghosts making their attack run on the Greenbacks. Greenbacks breaking formation."

"Defense network engaging, targeting Ghosts."

"Terminate exercise," Tyler said. It looked like everything was working the way it was supposed to. At least in regards to its mecha recognition. There would be several more days of testing before they would risk bringing the system fully online and armed unless they were attacked.

* * *

The United Earth Defense Forces weren't the only ones making preparations. What happened on Abydos was an embarrassment, but in the final accounting, the planet and even the injured pride were insignificant. But Ra knew it would only be the beginning. Whoever they were, even if they were content with Abydos, would not remain so for long.

Ra stormed through the halls of Dakara. Dakara was the most holy planet of the Jaffa, the center of the Goa'uld Empire, so it was only natural that the king of the gods, the Supreme System Lord Ra, ruled from it.

He found a hapless Jaffa and slammed the mortal against the wall. "Where is Ptah?" he demanded.

"My lord," the Jaffa gasped, "he is in the Glider bay."

Ra released the Jaffa and whirled away toward the Death Glider bay in search of his underling. Ptah was a genius when it came to spacecraft design; indeed, the ha'tak and Death Gliders which formed the backbone of the System Lords' collective fleets were Ptah's design. Ra had set another task before Ptah, though, but he had not seen the underlord since, and Heru'ur's apparent death only fouled his mood further.

"Ptah!" Ra roared as he strode into the Glider bay.

The other Goa'uld turned. "My lord Ra," he said. "You are just in time to see the first fruits of my labor. Of course, it is only a prototype, but I think you will be impressed. Observe." He waved a signal to the Jaffa he had been training in the new craft.

Ra smiled at what he saw.

* * *

Author's Postscript:

Okay, just so it's clear, the model for Leonard I am using for this story is that of a very direct and stubborn man, but otherwise a good and competent officer. He's not a bigot, religious nutcase, or megalomaniac. This is not an invitation for argument; this is how I intend to write him whenever he appears.

Similarly, the definition protoculture I'm using here is that of a powerful and compact energy source. While the Flower of Life **is** a hallucinogen, there are no Shapings, nor are thinking caps a critical component of mecha operation. All mecha are powered by protoculture; there are no fusion powered mecha.


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Closer to Home (8/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

Brigadier General Andrew Stroburn was the senior ranking officer of the Tactical Corps Recon Division. Each of the TC's subdivisions had at least a one-star like Stroburn heading it, many with two-stars. Recon was too small to rate a Major General, and Lieutenant General and above were reserved for the Tactical Corps as a whole or other equivalent branches, such as the Blowhards or Space Cadets. "Blowhard" was a nickname for the Alpha Tactical Armored Corps, referring to their use of hovertanks and hovercycles exclusively, while the "Space Cadets" were the Tactical Armored Space Corps, the newest of the space-faring branches.

All of this meant that Supreme Commander Leonard's decision to make BGen. Emerson his Chief of Staff tended to chafe many Southern Cross flag officers, Stroburn included. The fact that Emerson was a converted Space Cadet -- formerly part of the "old guard" UEDF of the Robotech War like most flag officers -- and had hauled along his own aides, Colonels Rochelle and Green, to similar positions of power that gave them positional authority over four-stars only exacerbated the resentment. Thankfully, neither colonel had been stupid enough to try to actually **exercise** that authority, but who knows how long that would last?

Not that he had anything against Rochelle, but he had met Green. The man was a follower, overly cautious when he should be bold, reckless when he should be careful, and indecisive the rest of the time. It was why, despite his years of service, he had still never risen above colonel. _Which, I suppose,_ Stroburn reflected sourly, _makes him the perfect aide._

At first, Stroburn didn't really pay much attention to Emerson's appointment. It wasn't until Emerson appropriated one of his platoons and gotten some of them killed that Stroburn started to resent the Supreme Commander's Chief of Staff. He was Emerson's **equal**. What right did that upstart have to just swipe one of his units without even the decency to bring them back in one piece? Or even let him know what he'd sent them into?

Of course, when RAdm. Leeds submitted a request for more Recon troops -- this time actually explaining what they would be doing -- it all started to fall into place, and Stroburn saw an opportunity. TaC-Recon, despite being an elite force, was a small force with an even smaller budget; they'd even had to go halves with the Gimps on some of their Monocle battloids, which annoyed Stroburn to no end. This stargate program might be the key to elevating Recon to a more prominent position within the ASC.

Recon would need heavier support if they wanted to gain full control over stargate operations, though. Special forces just wouldn't cut it, no matter how good they were. He had already put out some feelers on modifying the Fenris powered armor, so that should help, but they'd still need artillery and air support. Centaurs remained an obvious choice, able to fit through the stargate and better suited to the enemy they expected to face than the Spartas; the first mission had proven that.

But air support? Stroburn frowned as he turned the question over in his mind. None of the fighters or helicopters in production would fit through the stargate. It would have to be something completely new.

He began shuffling through the papers on his desk. It was a series of preliminary reports on military equipment in development. The new PR-25 particle beam rifle looked **very** promising. He paused as one of the reports caught his eye.

_Hmm..._ he mused thoughtfully as he read the brief in more detail. _YF-8 light veritech fighter, currently slated for possible acquisition by the Taffies and Space Cadets. Hmm..._

* * *

"Well," Captain Jonathan Banks said as he looked at the medical files, "at least now we know what those kangaroo pouches are for."

Banks was a marine, part of the United Earth Marine Corps detachment at Space Station Liberty. He had received a surprise briefing on the stargate by the sector commander, General Carter, after UES Hydra, a Banshee-class destroyer, defolded in Liberty space and sent a distress signal. Hydra had been tasked with carrying the prisoners to Space Station Liberty for long-term detainment.

"What about the previous host?" Banks asked, looking at Hydra's Independent Duty Corpsman, PO1 Reika Thompson, who ran a hand through her blue-black hair in response.

"He was completely terrified, and none of us could figure out what he was saying," she replied. "We had to sedate him to keep him from hurting himself, but he's clean. The parasite's moved on."

So now they had a parasitic snake hiding among the ship's crew, and only his marines from Liberty were confirmed to not be compromised.

Joy.

"We'll have to quarantine everyone, then run them through the medical scanner, Corpsman," Banks said.

"I guess we'd better start with me, then, sir."

* * *

Since he discovered what was now known as the stargate, PFC Dmitri Santiago's life had turned upside down. He had been having doubts about the Arctic Division for a while now, and when General Stroburn had quietly approached him with an eye toward developing a new general purpose powered armor... well, at least Recon meant he'd have the opportunity to see new sights.

He relished this new assignment. The new Cerberus powered armor was an adaptation of the Fenrir, with its cold weather specific gear stripped out in favor of a more adaptable all-environment design. True, it couldn't handle arctic conditions as well as a Fenris could, nor would it compete with a Kraken for underwater operations, but the beauty was that it wasn't **limited** to those environments. Test piloting the Cerberus for the new Stargate Command was a hell of a lot more exciting than drill and maneuvers in the Antarctic Circle.

* * *

"Major!" one of Hydra's crewmen called out as Banks and two of his marines returned to escort the next people to be screened.

Banks looked around to see who he was talking to.

"Major Banks," the crewman clarified, causing Banks to scowl at the peculiar naval tradition which had caused the momentary confusion. Why the Spacy had felt the need to carry that particularly annoying tradition was beyond him. "I have to tell you something."

"What is it, Petty Officer?" he asked.

The PO2 straightened to attention, "Petty Officer Second Class Gerald Newman, sir. I just woke up in the head. I was the host to the parasite until approximately two hours ago."

Banks considered that, then began to curse.

* * *

"Corpsman!" Banks called as he burst back into sickbay and looked around. "Corpsman, where are you?"

Thompson emerged from an opposite hatch, "Head call, sir. What's the problem?"

"The parasite jumped from its host about two hours ago, but not before drugging him," he said. "It went for the vents. I thought you said that thing couldn't last more than a few seconds outside a host?"

"It's a completely new lifeform, Major," she replied pointedly, continuing the "courtesy promotion" that allowed for only one captain on a ship. "With scans of only one sample, I can only make some educated guesses, and I'm a corpsman, not a xenobiologist."

"We'll have to start the scan again," he declared. "Get everyone in full EVA gear."

"Excuse me?" she blinked.

"If this thing isn't in a host, I want it dead," he said. "It still needs oxygen, right?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"So get everyone in full EVA gear. We'll flush the atmo and keep everyone who isn't actually being scanned in EVA gear until you're all cleared."

"Sir, you are **not** the captain of this ship."

Banks stopped short at that. "You're right, Corpsman. I'm not," he agreed, which, while true from the common perspective, was still ironic from another. Hydra was a small ship, and its captain was actually a 1Lt. Banks was the only person on the ship who actually **did** hold the rank of captain, albeit the much lower captaincy of the UEMC, which made him of equal pay grade to Hydra's captain. Still, having been tasked with investigating the situation, he had command authority. He strode over to the handset and lifted it from the cradle, "Bridge, Marine Six."

"Bridge, Go."

"Bridge, Marine Six, parasite is mobile, not restricted to a host. Strongly recommend full EVA gear for all personnel and evacuating atmosphere, followed by continued full EVA gear for all personnel until entire crew has been scanned again."

He might have command authority, but there was no reason not to be polite about it.

* * *

The hardest part had been getting Heru'ur's former host into an EVA suit. Given his state of mind, waking him up, Banks was assured, would be a very, very bad idea, but wrestling his unconscious body into an EVA suit was no picnic either.

The tedium of waiting for the scans to be completed a **second** time was just as bad, especially in the constricting confines of the EVA suits. While the EVA suits were far less bulky and uncomfortable than pre-robotech EVA suits, they still induced a feeling of mild claustrophobia after the first few hours.

In the end, there was only one person left to scan, and so far, everyone else had come through clean. Weapons were leveled on the hapless corpsman.

Thompson's hands went up. "Wait!" her voice came with an odd double-echo effect. "There is no need for violence. I surrender."

* * *

General Carter looked at the monitor showing where the prisoner was being kept. "Well?"

"The flash-clone host seems to be stable," Space Station Liberty's Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Andrew Moore said. They had used a Zentraedi cloning pod and micronization chamber to clone a blank slate host for the prisoner before sealing him up in one of the biohazard quarantine zones. "The former host is quite thoroughly insane. Our linguist's best guess places him as one of the Germanic tribes, but that's from thousands of years ago, before there was a Germany. Or even 'the Germanies.'" His gaze swept over to the monitor, "The man's been enslaved to that thing for millenia. That would drive anyone insane."

"He's offering us an awful lot," she mused aloud, stroking her chin thoughtfully. "Naquadah-based technology, hyperdrives, transporters; insights into the System Lords, their mindsets and force deployments."

Moore looked at her sharply, "You're not seriously thinking of dealing with that monster?"

"Not my call," she shrugged. "Parliament will have to make that decision. For now, we keep him locked up tight and ready to be spaced if he blinks wrong."

* * *

He didn't even look up as the office door creaked open, so absorbed was he in the budget requests he was reviewing. The reconstruction efforts in what used to be Paraguay were settling down, but there were still hundreds of minor little details that needed to be sorted out.

"Brigadier General?" a female voice said. It was a strong voice, with a sufficient level of command authority that the man instantly identified her as a veteran officer, probably flag rank.

They were getting younger and younger, these days, what with the sudden decrease in available candidates.

"Retired," he said, not even bothering to look up.

"General," his visitor continued, stepping up to stand before his desk, "under Article Nineteen, Section Forty-Two, Subsection C of the Unified Defense Act, you are hereby recalled to active duty."

"I was US Air Force," he pointed out, "not UEDF."

"According to Article Thirty-One, Section Seven, Subsection Q of the Earth Unification Charter, the United Earth Forces retain the power to call to service former members of any of its constituent military services," she rattled off the relevant information with ease. "Failure to answer such recall notices without a qualifying exception as outlined in the UEG Uniform Code of Military Justice is subject to desertion and possible treason charges."

He finally stopped and put his pen down. "Look, I don't know what your game is..." he looked up and glanced at her uniform for a moment, "...Admiral, but I am not amused. I'm busy. I've got a week's worth of budget requests and two days to go over them."

"You're not doing anyone any good here, General, and you know it," the young Rear Admiral said. "Your experience in civil engineering and as Pentagon liaison to the early UEDF is absolutely critical for this operation."

"What operation?"

She paused for a moment, as if trying to figure out exactly how to put her next words together.

"Tell me, General, have you ever heard of Project Giza?"

"Giza?" he blinked again, then frowned. "Giza, Giza... it was a budget black hole back in the nineties. Lots of money, no results, probably a blacker than black ops cover until its funds were redirected with the war."

"Not exactly," she said. "Project Giza's research efforts were almost entirely unsuccessful. However, recent developments along those same lines of research have resulted in the UEF creating a third branch independent of the Southern Cross and Expeditionary Forces in order to assess and defend against a potential threat to the security of the human race."

His frown deepened, "I'm hearing a lot of words, but I notice you didn't actually **say** anything. Just how black is this?"

"Not as black as you think. Both Supreme Commander Leonard and the Admirals Hunter agree that this operation should be revealed as soon as practical, but we have a lot of infrastructure that needs to be built first. That's where you come in."

Brigadier General Paul Davis, USAF (Ret.), slowly stood up behind his desk.

"All right," he said, "you've piqued my interest."

* * *

Author's Postscript:

So, quick survey. Be honest. How many of you thought Leonard was recommending Jack O'Neill last chapter and that it was Jack in the above scene?

By the way, Colonels Rochelle and Green are the two colonels always flanking Emerson. Green's the older guy with gray hair and a beard who always seems to be suggesting the wrong thing, while Rochelle is the younger clean-shaven guy with brown hair.


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Closer to Home (9/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

The past few days had been hectic for Paul Davis. He had been given time to make arrangements for the projects he had been overseeing, but once the last detail was taken care of, he had barely had enough time to pack before he was carted off and crammed into the back seat of a Sylphid trainer veritech making a beeline for Egypt.

So he was a little numb when the admiral showed him the stargate.

"Wormholes?" he repeated, his hands holding the abbreviated file on the stargate going slack. "Stable wormholes? Planet to planet teleportation?" The potential of such a system was mind-boggling. A fold drive needed a ship and -- as the SDF-1 had proven on its maiden voyage -- couldn't be safely used within a planet's gravity well. While escaping a gravity well had become much easier over the past twenty years, it was still an expensive, fuel-guzzling process. To be able to simply cut that out of the equation...

Leeds nodded, "It's one-way, and since we still haven't figured out Earth's address, we keep this end secure from incoming wormholes." She gestured to the scaffold that held a large steel bar inside the ring. "The wormhole can't form if a foreign object is within either the dialing stargate or the destination stargate, which explains why it hadn't been activated until recently, given the climate effects of the Rain of Death."

"How safe is it?"

"All of our personnel who have been through the stargate have checked out medically, barring combat injuries," Leeds answered. "Even so, everyone gets a check-up before and after going through so we can pick up any anomalies." She looked at him, "You'll be writing the final protocols. Right now, we're shooting from the hip."

She shook her head, "There's just so much to do. If there are other hostiles that use the 'gate network, Abydos is strategically critical, but there's no existing industrial infrastructure to work with. The Abydonians are barely above subsistence level economics."

Davis nodded thoughtfully, his mind already trying to figure out how best to get a full-scale, fortified, military-industrial complex up and running before -- what was his name? Ra -- could launch any retaliatory strikes. "When do I go through?"

"A week," she replied. "Two days for the medical screening, another three to get you properly up to speed on the project, and General Stroburn sent some proposals over for review."

Davis frowned, "Stroburn? TaC-Recon? Does he have clearance for this?"

"Most of it," she nodded. "He's been quite accommodating."

"Inter-service cooperation," he deadpanned. "Will wonders never cease?"

"We **have** been using mostly Recon and Desert personnel," she pointed out. "Recon's specialized in dealing with unexpected circumstances, and the only reason Desert's involved is because of the biosphere on Abydos near the stargate. Once we start expanding our operations, we'll probably be pulling almost exclusively from Recon and the UEMC and UEA."

"Well, what support units do we have over there?" he probed. "Civil defense, construction, and engineering especially."

She sighed, "Right now, we have a 'legal oversight detachment' from the GMP and a battalion from the Engineering Corps."

Davis suppressed a wince. Having the engineering battalion on hand was good -- **very** good -- but a "legal oversight detachment" translated to a committee of useless bureaucrats looking to criticize how the local command was doing **their** job because they didn't have the manpower to do it themselves.

"Gimps couldn't spare any real help?" he muttered. "What about the CDU?"

"Not involved," she shook her head. "They're stretched thin enough as it is on Earth. The natives have been doing a good job policing their own so far."

"Let's get the physical over with," he said, turning away from the stargate. "And you can bring me up to speed on the other side."

* * *

Trailing behind the Centaur hovertank, First Lieutenant Alan Shun stepped through the stargate, emerging back in the gateroom on Abydos. The stargate had been relocated to a newly-constructed facility. It's dialing device had been damaged during the firefight, thanks to an ill-placed cobalt grenade, so it had been replaced with the dialing device from Ra's ship-board stargate. That spare stargate had been put into storage.

The new gateroom was vast, with a staging ground for mecha forces. The walls were thick and armored. A dilating iris made of robotech steel had been affixed to the stargate to provide security.

He saluted to the uniformed woman waiting for him. She was Lt. Col. Lydia Blevins, senior ranking TaC-Recon officer at the SGC.

"Welcome back, SG-1," the colonel greeted them. "Find anything interesting?"

Pulling off his helmet, Alan shook his head, "Nada. Trees, trees, and more trees. We found the settlement the UAV spotted, but it was deserted." _Again,_ he added silently.

The colonel nodded. "Report to the conference room at nineteen hundred," she said. "The new base commander's here early."

"Yes, ma'am."

As the colonel left, Alan's two sergeants shook their heads. "I wonder what kind of shrub we got saddled with," Amos mused aloud.

"Hopefully one who isn't going to meddle," Nikki replied. "Heaven forbid we get someone who'll actually let us do our jobs."

* * *

"Welcome to New Babylon," Leeds gestured as they emerged into the open. The Abydonian sun beat down on them, but shading their eyes, they could see the hustle and bustle of the compound. Battloids stood guard around prefab buildings, and a village of adobe huts appeared to be growing off to the side.

"You do realize there have actually been, I think, four Babylons on Earth, right?" Paul pointed out dryly as his gaze swept across the view, taking in the base. They had just gone through the post-'gating check up and had scheduled a meeting with the field leaders at nineteen hundred, which left them plenty of time to tour the compound.

"Fine, fine, we'll call it Babylon Five then," she said dismissively, looking for the M299 jeep that was supposed to be taking them around.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snorted. "My point is, why does everyone seem to feel the need to tack on 'New' in front of everything we name these days? New Cairo, New Detroit, New Macross. I'm glad they shot down New New Jersey. Is anyone seriously going to forget that most of our current civilization is built upon the ruins of the old?"

"So, not going to call your first new city 'New New York'?" she cocked an eyebrow.

"Not my first choice, no," he answered, giving her a withering look, even as the jeep pulled up. "If we keep this up, we'll have a New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New York before the turn of the next century."

"Admiral? General?" the jeep driver climbed out and saluted. "Private Jeffreys, sir, ma'am."

They were on their way before Paul thought to ask, "So what's the first stop on our tour anyway?"

"ELARC."

"A lark?" he frowned in confusion.

Leeds shook her head, "ELARC. The Ernest Littlefield Advanced Research Center. It's named for the first man to walk through the stargate."

"I thought that was one of our Recon boys?"

Leeds's face darkened, "That's what we thought initially, but we've been going over Project Giza's records. The stargate they were studying was previously opened in nineteen forty-five. We're still trying to figure out where the planet he went to is so we can bring his remains home."

"I see," he nodded.

"ELARC's the front line on all our research related to the stargate, including technology recovered from Ra."

* * *

It was an excited Antissa Talim who greeted them.

"As Doctor McKay initially theorized, their weapons are primarily plasma-based, firing self-contained plasma bolts," she explained excitedly. "The staff weapons much more compact than anything we've seen before, and produces better penetration against our battle armor than standard armor-piercing bullets, more comparable to our laser or particle beam rifles. It tends to splash rather than penetrate against heavier armor, though."

Antissa was an unusual Zentraedi. She was bred to be a maintenance tech for the complex Quaedlunn-Rau powered armor. While the knowledge she had been programmed with was strictly of the "plug-and-play" variety, she had developed a knack for odd workarounds and battlefield repairs that had made her invaluable among Azonia's Quieran battalion. Like most Zentraedi support personnel, however, Antissa had her... quirks.

The two flag officers blinked at each other for a moment.

"Uhh," Antissa floundered for a moment, "what I mean is, their stuff's really not much better than ours. In fact, it's not as good because of the lower rates of fire and inferior accuracy and ergonomics. But the power source! The power source, naquadah, it's the same mineral the stargate's made of! Its power output's comparable to protoculture! Do you know what this means?"

They gave each other a significant look. Earth's supply of protoculture, vast as it was after scavenging the wreckage of millions of Zentraedi warships, **was** limited. If this "naquadah" was really a suitable alternative...

Well, the implications were enormous. It could change everything.

"We're well aware of the impact this could have," Leeds assured her.

"The personal energy shields are also impressive," Antissa chattered on. "It seems to be powered by the naquadah within the user's blood. We're working on trying to adapt it to run off the protoculture in Zentraedi blood."

* * *

The briefing was going well, but something struck Paul as particularly odd from the reports on the exploration missions.

"You're telling me you've explored over two dozen different worlds, found signs of habitation on about half of them, but you didn't encounter any natives?" he asked, puzzled. It didn't make sense.

"Well, what do you expect?"

"Excuse me?" Lt. Col. Lydia Blevins's voice was perfectly cool and professional, despite the undertone of "You'd better explain yourself and fast," as she locked gazes with Dr. Jackson. Daniel Jackson remained on Abydos as head of the new Catherine Langford Institute of Xeno-Archaeology and a chief researcher for the SGC.

Paul gesturing for him to elaborate.

"They've been going through the 'gate with full battle armor and tank support," Dr. Jackson pointed out. "The signs they've reported are of rather primitive societies, medieval at best. Our soldiers probably look like demons to them."

"Yeah," Blevins acknowledged, "but no armor makes them targets, and I, for one, don't want to bring our troops home in body bags."

"You could try leaving the tanks behind," Dr. Jackson suggested blandly.

"The first mission made it crystal clear just how valuable armored cavalry is in any potential engagement with the Goa'uld."

"Look, do you want to make contact with the natives or not?"

"Risk our soldiers' lives for unknown diplomatic opportunities?" Paul interjected before the argument got out of hand. "No, Doctor Jackson. Stargate Command is a military operation, and our first priority must always be to identify and safeguard against any threat to Earth. Our **second** priority is to bring our troops home alive. Body armor is non-negotiable." Paul paused, then added, "However, I do agree that armor support is a touch excessive, especially considering the protoculture expenditure. UAV flights preceding all recon missions should be adequate."

The archaeologist and the colonel each gave a sigh that somehow translated to "You're being idiots, and I plan to be around to say 'I told you so.'"

Paul had to stifle a sigh of his own. Compromise: The art of making sure no one's happy.

* * *

Cpl. Vera Dixon was a member of SG-7. The planet they were on had its stargate in the middle of a lush forest, making it impractical for proper aerial reconnaissance or even armor support, given the size of the trees in question.

Vera idly wondered if they had managed to stumble across the Zentraedi homeworld. The trees were certainly big enough. The stargate itself was on the severed stump of one of the massive trees.

SG-7 had pulled babysitter duty, providing security while a research team performed tests and took feedback readings from the fold beacon they had assembled near the stargate.

KAWOOSH!

Vera brought her AR-25 up to her shoulder and spun to face the stargate. The assault rifle was loaded with armor piercing incendiary rounds. Milk run or not, they weren't taking any chances, and there simply weren't enough laser rifles to go around, so they made do with what they had.

Besides, API rounds were just as deadly.

2Lt. Carver waved the rest of SG-7 into defensive positions, even as PFC Hamato hauled the researchers behind the dubious cover of a pair of plastic crates. The entire exercise was done with rote efficiency and a sense of boredom, as despite the precautions, none of them really expected a fight.

It was obvious the new arrivals weren't expecting trouble, but the staff weapons dropped level instantly. The first plasma bolt took Hamato in the back, moments before the lead Jaffa's head was blown off by return fire. Tracers flashed, and plasma bolts flew as the two unprepared forces engaged, chewing each other up in the ensuing firefight.

Vera lost track of the battle when she got tagged in the arm, sending her spinning to the ground, the pain and smell of roasting flesh drowning out all her other senses. After a moment -- she wasn't sure how long -- she realized that the sound of gunfire and staff weapon blasts had stopped. All she could hear was her own breathing.

And unsteady footsteps.

Zerus staggered toward the feebly moving female. He had been injured and was forced to use his staff weapon for support, but now, it appeared there were only the two of them left. He would question her, then finish her and report these intruders into his god's realm.

He straightened. His leg -- wounded as it was -- was still strong enough to hold his weight for a little while. With the business end of his staff weapon, he rolled her over. Curiously, she was clutching her abdomen.

The woman grinned ferally as the cobalt grenade's spoon went flying, released by her body as she was rolled over.

"F*ck you."

* * *

Author's Postscript:

Believe it or not, Vera's actually a character from canon Stargate: SG-1, though she never actually appeared, and is probably not related to Ben Dixon.


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Closer to Home (10/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Violence, harsh language. In other words, nothing worse than what's on TV today.

Spoilers: Lots.

Disclaimer: The settings depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: In 2024, the Armies of the Southern Cross discover an extra-terrestrial threat that's a little closer to home.

Author's Note: Yet another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone.

* * *

"How many casualties?" Paul asked.

"Almost the entire team confirmed dead," Blevins answered, her voice tight. "Only two members unaccounted for, Lieutenant Carver and Corporal Dixon, and at least one of them detonated a cobalt grenade at point blank range. The remains are... unidentifiable until we hear back on the DNA analysis."

"How the hell did something like this happen?"

"The planet's gate area had been deemed secure, apparently in error," she said ruefully, shaking her head. "They were caught off-guard, they had to protect the researchers, and they were out-numbered at least two to one, based on the number of bodies we found."

"What do we have on the new hostiles?"

"Kangaroo pouch types," she said. "Head gear's different -- cobra hoods instead of falcon heads -- and different tatts on their foreheads. We've sent a copy of the tatt to Liberty in case their guest can tell us more."

"Apophis."

The officers present turned to look at the only civilian present. Dr. Jackson blinked at the scrutiny. "Apophis," he repeated. "Egyptian mythology. Ra was the sun god who ruled the day. Apophis was the serpent god, Ra's rival who ruled the night. Th-the cobra hoods make that kind of obvious."

"All in favor of adding Doctor Jackson to the SGC's intelligence division?" Paul said, raising his hand, as did the other officers. "The ayes have it. Doctor Jackson, we'll be passing data through you for your interpretation. We would appreciate any help you can give us."

"Um, okay."

* * *

The woman stirred, then tried to sit up, only to hiss as pain shot through her body.

"Rest," a kindly voice said as a gentle hand against her sternum pushed her back down. "You're still very weak right now. I need to change the dressing."

Her right hand reflexively drifted to her hip, resting on the butt of her sidearm, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She may be half-naked and unarmored, but at least she was armed. She squinted at the woman tending to her. She pegged her as being in her mid to late fifties, some sort of local healer; this certainly wasn't a modern clinic or hospital. She'd run into similar types in some of the more primitive or harder hit parts of Earth. She offered no resistance as the other woman moved to change the dressing on her left arm.

It was then that she heard what had woken her. There was the sound of a scuffle outside the room, and her eyes narrowed, "What's going on?"

"Nothing you should worry about," the woman said firmly. "We saw how you fought against the servants of Apophis. Contrary to what some in the village would prefer, we will not betray you."

The door suddenly burst open, a body crashing through it and landing in the room. The woman gasped as she knelt by the fallen young man, "Arleon!"

Two men crowded into the room, but there were clearly more behind them. The apparent ringleader was a burly man, well-muscled, with a five-o'-clock shadow. He wore a heavy leather apron stained with soot.

"Out of the way, Nidra," he said. "This is what's best for all of us. If we don't turn her over, Apophis will destroy the village."

Click.

The man blinked at the strange weapon the outsider woman now pointed at his face. The way she held the metal object left no doubt that it was indeed a weapon and that the click signified that it was now ready to kill.

"Back off, pal," she said. "You don't have the balls or the guns you'd need to make me go anywhere." The standard M-37 Weasel wasn't the most powerful pistol in Earth's armory, but the man wore nothing that could even begin to stop its 9x21mm round.

The blacksmith considered the half-naked woman for a long moment, noting the ugly burn marks on her other arm -- burns which he was sure had to be causing her excruciating pain... not that he could see any trace of that pain in her face -- and the cold professionalism in her eyes. He backed away, closing the door behind him.

"So, Nidra, was it?" she asked the woman, lowering the pistol. "My name's Vera. Mind telling me where the hell my armor is?"

* * *

"All right, people!" Alan called out to the rest of SG-1. "SG-7 ran into a little trouble on P4X-929, and there's a corporal out there we need to bring home."

SG-1 had been chosen for the mission for a number of reasons. First, they had specific experience in fighting the type of aliens found with SG-7's remains. Second, they were the team that had initially explored this planet and were therefore familiar with the terrain. And third, SG-6, the SGC's dedicated SAR team, was still being assembled and wouldn't be taking missions for another month. Search and rescue personnel remained in high demand on the battered planet Earth. SG-3, a Tactical Corps combat team, would be providing support. The DNA analysis had come in just the night before, positively identifying the charred remains as 2Lt. Jeanne Carver, which made Cpl. Vera J. Dixon their missing soldier.

He stopped short as Saryanna joined the team. He quirked a querying eyebrow at her, and she gave a thin smile, "**Someone** dragged her off, Lieutenant, and odds are, we're going to have to deal with them somehow. I think we'd all prefer to do so without a firefight."

He nodded. Fair enough.

"All right! Let's saddle up!"

* * *

The mighty warship hurtled through hyperspace. Built on a planet that the SGC would label PX9-757, it was Apophis's flagship, much larger and more powerful than a mere Ha'tak. While it failed to fulfill Apophis's hope of matching the Asgard's mighty Bilskirnir-class ships, it was certainly powerful enough to make Ra wary of his rival since it was completed over twenty years ago.

It was good for a god to visit his subjects once every generation or so. It kept the faith alive... and gave his loyal servants the opportunity to ferret out and slay the unbelievers (or at least the outright rebellious). This was especially important on newly-captured territory, whose people might still hold some shred of loyalty to their former god.

All in all, it was a fairly ordinary expedition for Apophis. His First Prime, Teal'c, however, was marginally concerned. Zerus had been sent ahead to prepare the way, but he had not reported in as was custom. It might just be some minor delay -- and if so, Zerus would be properly punished -- but then again, it might not. He would ring down with the honor guard first to make sure everything was properly prepared.

* * *

SG-3 had set up in ambush positions around the stargate. Considering what the initial evidence suggested had happened to SG-7, this was a sensible precaution, and it left SG-1 free to investigate. As before, there was no armor support available, but they had plenty of personal firepower to compensate.

"Sierra Gulf Seven Firefly, Sierra Gulf One Niner, please respond. Over," Alan repeated into his helmet-mounted radio for the umpteenth time.

This time, however, his radio crackled with a response, "Sierra Gulf One Niner, Firefly, took you long enough. What song won the war? Over."

Alan suppressed a snort and answered, "We Will Win. What's your status? Over."

"Injured but functional. No hostiles. Finally met the locals. Over," came the reply.

"Set your radio to transmit a beacon. We'll follow it in. Over."

"Copy that. Over and out."

Alan flipped his radio's frequency, "Sierra Gulf Three Niner, Sierra Gulf One Niner. We've made radio contact with Firefly. Hold position at the stargate while we extract. Do you copy?"

"Sierra Gulf Three Niner copies."

* * *

Camulus was a System Lord. True, he didn't have a seat on the High Council of System Lords, and he only had a few systems to his name after his last failed bid to gain power; the Supreme System Lord had come down hard on him, stripping him of half his territory. But he was still a System Lord. Ra had given him a mission, and while it humiliated the god of war, self-preservation compelled him.

That same self-preservation -- combined with the natural suspicion of a Goa'uld -- was also why he was approaching this task so cautiously. His Ha'tak hovered on the edge of the system as a cloaked Tel'tak scout approached the distant planet of Abydos.

* * *

Captain O'Neil was the senior officer over Abydos. While Rear Admiral Leeds was technically in charge, the fact that she was dirtside left O'Neil in command of the orbital assets. He stood on the bridge of his ship, UES Tisiphone, and smiled in satisfaction as the exercise concluded. Now it was time for live-fire.

"Bring the defense network up to full power," he ordered.

"Defense network to full power, aye."

The nineteen converted Zentraedi warships hummed to life as power was routed to their weapons for the first time.

* * *

Camulus blanched as his sensors squealed, suddenly registering warship-grade energy readings from what he had thought was debris around the planet Abydos.

_They must have spotted us!_ he thought frantically as he spun the cloaked ship on an escape vector. There was no way a Tel'tak could survive the sort of firepower those energy readings indicated.

Halfway out of the engagement zone, he paused.

_Why haven't they fired?_ he frowned. Taking a chance, he spun the ship again and brought his passive sensors to maximum. The gigantic floating craft were pulsing with energy, but it was steady and stable.

They were on standby, weapons hot and ready to fire.

Realization dawned on the god of war as another craft entered the engagement zone, only to be blasted to bits by energy weapons from the floating weapons platforms. It was an exercise. A war game.

Camulus smiled and settled in to watch.

_This could be most... informative._

* * *

SG-1 quickly found the missing corporal. The villagers were cautious and wary of the Earthers in their strange armor, but SG-1 did their best to ignore it. Saryanna was speaking with the woman who had tended to Dixon's wounds when a shadow darkened the sky.

Alan looked up and saw the massive ship descending. He wasn't 100% certain, as the angle wasn't exactly the best, but it looked a **lot** bigger than the one they'd taken at Abydos, especially with the black superstructure that ringed it.

"Oh, hell," Alan muttered. "Everyone! Scatter!"

This was **not** a fight they were equipped to fight. Even if they called in SG-3, they still only had small arms and heavy weapons. Against a ship that size and what it probably carried, they'd need at **least** combat vehicle support... and probably veritechs or strike fighters too.

SG-1 scattered, most of them melting into the surrounding forest the way they were trained. Stealth was a crucial part of Recon training.

Saryanna rounded one of the village's houses, only to stop as ring transporters, hidden by the layer fallen leaves, flashed to work in front of her. She considered her options. She could run, hide, or fight.

She was Zentraedi. The choice was obvious.

She twisted, her left fist lashing out and crushing the throat of the Jaffa on her right, her right snatching the staff weapon from his suddenly limp fingers. She twirled the staff weapon and brought its business end against the Jaffa on her left even as she armed it, trigger a blast to his sternum, sending him flying backwards, dead.

There were two more Jaffa behind them, and she stepped into the area of the ring transporters, bringing the staff weapon up. She caught the one on the left across the chest, but the one on the right twisted out of the way. She spun in place, striking the right-hand Jaffa with a reverse roundhouse kick to the head before dropping to a crouch, dodging the plasma blast from the left-hand Jaffa's staff weapon. She rose and attacked. The last Jaffa blocked her first attack and her second and her third, but the power of the blows forced him to back up with each blow, until finally, she dropped to the ground, her hand flashing toward her holster. The magnum thundered, and the last of the four Jaffa fell.

Rising to her feet, she holstered the pistol and sneered, "As warrior races go, you are a severe disappointment."

"Then perhaps I shall offer a greater challenge," a voice said mildly from behind her.

She turned and saw a large, dark-skinned Jaffa standing before her, flanked by two others, who backed off at a signal from the obvious leader. She noted the golden tattoo on his forehead... as well as the controlled poise with which he held his staff weapon.

"And you are...?" she prompted.

"I am Teal'c," the dark-skinned Jaffa answered, "First Prime of Apophis."

She shifted into a ready stance and beckoned.

"Very well, Teal'c, First Prime of Apophis. I am Saryanna Demin, Quadrono, Zentraedi Air Force. Let us dance."

* * *

Author's Postscript:

I really don't know if I can do the upcoming epic fight justice.


End file.
